The Ways I Cannot Trust Myself
by marryanne135
Summary: teen drug addicted Dark!Kurt. I trust him with my sanity because I cannot trust myself. Life has a way of offering me exactly what I want, only when it's the worst thing for me, and everything I want could tear me to shreds with no effort at all.
1. Prologue

**A/N- This story is **_**highly**_** based off of my own experiences so please keep that in mind with any criticisms you want to throw at me. **

**I have a nasty habit of abandoning stories, but this one has been building up in my mind for a while so though my updates may not be spaced out evenly, they will continue. **

**Warnings- lots and lots of triggers. Every trigger in the handbook. Dark!Kurt, innocent but intelligent Blaine, and even more triggers. Sex, lots of drugs, self-harm, and probably more. **

**Keep in mind this is the prologue, and the first chapter is coming next. If you want to see my tumblr its HeatherSyvilla dot tumblr dot com. **

**I also need a beta. Any willing betas, I would be forever grateful.**

**I do not own glee, please review. **

I trust him with my sanity because I cannot trust myself. Life has a way of offering me exactly what I want, only when it's the worst thing for me, and everything I want could tear me to shreds with no effort at all.

I want drugs. If someone handed me drugs I would take them, and if it meant getting on my knees and sucking them off, that was simply a way to get to what I wanted. I was just sucking a dick, no harm, none at all, and even better, I got my high. What more could I ask for?

If someone said they'd give me 50 bucks if I let them fuck me, I'd says I have a condom in my wallet. Its common sense in my mind and a few too many times I was genuinely confused when other people didn't think the same way.

I don't trust myself because, secretly, ever so secretly, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being used, and I enjoyed the looks of superiority as dirty men thrust into me over and over and threw the money on my naked body when they were finished, as if I was a foolish dog being handed scrap food as a treat. I loved having an excuse to cry myself to sleep, and I tried not to smile as the tears left a tattoo upon my cheek. I loved to feel the burn as the marijuana made the world four dimensional, how it made my mind move in slow motion, and how it made every patch of skin a brand new sweet spot for my dealers to bite at. I loved to come home and watch my dad look at me in concern.

"Were people being mean to you? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine dad. I had a good day."

And in my perfect, clever little mind, it certainly was a good day if I managed to get 100 bucks for only 3 blowjobs, and got a good 2 grams of the good shit when I let a mildly attractive man fuck me from behind. It had hurt, but oh was it worth it. I got the good shit.

"You're acting strange, are you feeling sick?"

"No dad," I would say coolly. "I'm just not looking forward to all the homework I have to do. Night!"

Oh, and if there was one thing I could do better than anyone else, it was lie, my pretty pale cheeks not betraying a hint of pink, and my eyes as calm as ever. My dad never stood a chance of finding out.

But then Blaine came. Blaine with his huge eyes and innocent curiosity, who I would have figured any day would be as naïve as a preschooler asking his mother what a condom was, but saw though my act as if it had never been there. Stupid, stupid Blaine.

I trust him with my sanity, because I cannot trust myself. This story is about my life before Blaine, and how he tore my thoughts apart and made me who I am today.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N- ****This story is **_**highly**_** based off of my own experiences so please keep that in mind with any criticisms you want to throw at me.**

**so I am ruthlessly trying to find a beta and I can't find one for my life. I found one but she's not answering me back soooo, here is chapter one, un-beta'd but once I get one I will send it to them and replace the chapter. Please keep that in mind when reading.**

**If you are interested in being a beta for this story PLEASE tell me!**

**Tumblr- heathersyvilla dot tumblr dot com. **

**Blaine should be introduced around the end of next chapter.**

**I do not own glee, please review!**

At the age of fifteen and starting my freshman year of high school, I, Kurt Hummel, was as normal as a fashion loving, show tunes singing, out gay teenager could be expected to be. I fought with my father over who would do the dishes, forgot to do my homework, and got caught looking at muscle magazines when my dad walked into my room without knocking.

Maybe I had been a little too shy, a little too lonely, and maybe I hated my life enough to sap out any normality, but I managed to keep it up somehow. I averted my eyes from the people who looked at me like dirt, and smiled brightly at my father so he would know that my miserable life was perfectly okay.

Mercedes had been my first friend. We met freshmen year when I walked into the glee club auditions with my head held high and my voice even higher. It was odd to have a friend, and I wasn't sure how to act around her. I had been alone since the age of 7, and social skills were one thing I did not possess. Sure, I could talk myself out of any situation, manipulate anyone into giving me what I wanted, but small talk was some foreign language that had no text books and no tutors.

My mother died when I was 7, and since then the Hummel house could always be found silent, except for the silent buzz of a football game, the opening of beer cans and the small tap of footsteps as I walked around aimlessly in my room. I was lonelier than I would ever have admitted, and somehow even Mercedes could never have healed that wound.

Then I made friends with the rest of new directions. Tina, Artie, Rachel, and even Finn were fun, or at least as fun as 4 such different people could be. I was able to have my first ever sleepover, and I was able to find acceptance in people's eyes rather than the dark, malicious stares I had faced my entire life. It was the first time I had truly smiled in a long time, but still I felt this gaping hole in my chest that refused to go away, no matter how many sleepovers, after-school coffees, or eventful glee club meeting I encountered.

It seemed now that I had friends, no matter how unpopular, I had taken twenty steps forward, but every hateful glare, every forceful shove, and every time I remembered that I hated myself would take me another 20 steps backwards.

It was halfway through my freshman year when I first cut myself. It had been painful, and I had sworn to myself I would never do it again, until the next night when I pushed down a little harder. It was the second time that made me realize my cuts were beautiful. I still remember standing in the shower, the sharpest knife I could find held limply in my right hand as I watched, entranced, the blood run in small streams from my wrist, painting my fingers and dripping from the pads onto the white shower floor, staining it red until the water swirled it away.

It became a habit. A daily adventure I took all on my own and nobody knew. It was my secret. I watched as the beautiful scars came into existence and then healed themselves over, and as the day and weeks flew by, I never noticed myself changing.

I started to become handsome. My jaw line became strong, cheeks hallowed, my eyes large but sad. My body became slimmer, growing into its own sex appeal.

But it wasn't just my appearance that changed. As the weeks flew by, that little boy who dreamt of catwalks and vogue magazine was slipping from between my fingers, and I had no idea.

Perhaps it was my innocence, or maybe it was my pride. I still don't know what it was that had been disappearing from my very being during those months before I met… _them. _

It was the feeling you get when someone offers you a cigarette and you say 'no thanks.'

It was the feeling you get when you dream of your first time and you see Rose petals and candles, soft lips whispering 'I love you' into your ear and you know you'll never be alone again.

It's the feeling you get when you laugh, and have no scars or the weight of loneliness to cut you off mid breath, and turn your happiness into a sob.

Whatever it was, it was vanishing from me fast, but slowly enough that I never even noticed.

Later, I would often tell myself in private that I was going mad, and to this day I still believe that is exactly what was happening.

Though I hadn't noticed my changes at the time, some people in my life were not so oblivious.

O.o.O

I hated nights like these, nights where I had to sit up with Mercedes and Rachel, listen to them talk about how sad they were that the boys they liked didn't like them back, that their daddy hadn't bought them the latest apple merchandise, and pretend to be sympathetic towards them as if I couldn't imagine such a torturous existence.

Loving having an excuse to leave the room, thanking the scars on my arms that forced me to change in the bathroom, I gathered up my pajamas and went to leave the room.

"Kurt I don't see why you can't change in the same room with us. It's like our tenth sleepover!" Rachel said exasperatingly as Mercedes nodded absently, clearly unconcerned.

I shrugged, still making my way out the door.

"Kurt, what's so important that you can't change in a room with two girls when you're gay!"

"Look, I just can't, okay!" I snapped loudly as I spun around, making both Rachel and Mercedes look up at me in alarm.

I stood there, trying to convey regret for my words, but silently examining the situation to determine how I could make it seem like I wasn't hiding something from them.

Before I could say anything further however, Mercedes, to the shock of both Rachel and I, stood up sharply and strode towards me. She stood there for a moment, staring at me with sadness in her eyes. Then she grabbed my left hand with a death grip, sliding my sweater sleeve up my arm as she did so to reveal an arm that left not even an inch of skin uncovered by pink scars and bright red cuts.

I jerked my arm hopelessly, heart pounding, and after a few seconds she let go of me and I stumbled back onto the wall.

As I looked up, both Rachel and Mercedes stared at my left arm where I cradled it to my chest. Both had tears in their eyes, and both look sympathetic perhaps, but unmistakably revolted.

I had had enough. I was so tired of pretending in front of the people I should be able to open up to. I was tired of being constantly aware of how much of my arms were exposed at all times, and I was tired of living with that gaping hole in my chest that seemed to grow as the days wore by. I wanted to get out, I wanted to do something dramatic like jump off the roof or run all the way home. I wanted someone to scream at me and tell me everything was okay, I wanted them to say they'd take care of me and hold me until I promised I would never cut again.

As I packed my bags as quickly as possible, the two girls only stood still, and they did not try and stop me as I ran from the house and out of sight.

As I slowed down my strides, I tried not to smile through my tears.

I didn't know why I was smiling at the time, or why a white hot jolt of thrill was buzzing through me, all I knew was I was extremely glad that the night's events had happened as they did, and the tears falling down my face felt like triumph.

O.o.O

Mercedes and Rachel had cornered me two days later at school and apologized with all of their heart and soul, but I did not listen. I knew, as they knew, that there was only one way the whole school could have known the precise reason Kurt Hummel's sweater was long sleeved and thick on a 75 degree average day. Word travels fast at McKinley, and it was obvious to me that Rachel had found it impossible to keep her oversized mouth shut, perhaps not to the whole school, but undoubtedly to the wrong people.

But secretly, I didn't mind in the slightest.

Here was a readymade excuse for me to abandon all that I had wanted since the age of four, everything I had longed for since the age of seven. Here, at last, was a perfect way to leave my new friends, my new life, and the glee club, and I wasn't about to turn it down.

Even I didn't know why I wanted to leave them so badly. All I knew was that there was a longing building inside my chest that I could no more explain that reveal why in the world Rachel Berry thought it was a good idea to tell the entire glee club I tore my skin open for a living. I wanted something, I wanted something so bad it hurt, so bad it made my stomach feel like it was turning inside out as I cried in my sleep, and I had absolutely no idea what it was.

Four days later and several angry tantrums from various glee club members and a bewildered Mr. Shue, I was sitting alone on my bed, box of tissues at my side, digging a box cutter as far into my wrist as I dared go. I had left the glee club, left all my friends as if they had not given me everything I had ever thought I wanted, and started my new existence as poor, sad little Kurt Hummel with nothing but a pretty face and scars to frame his porcelain arms.

I had thought it was my new found false happiness that had causes that hole in my chest to grow even deeper, I had thought it would go away, but it only grew ever the larger, and all I wanted in the world was to make it go away.

But at the same time, I couldn't help loving an excuse to cry myself to sleep.

Dark, twisted fantasies slivered into my nightmares, and soon they became dreams. I dreamt of dark, faceless figures that took me for their own and threw me to their friends, and in these dreams I was nothing but a plaything. My body was worshiped because I was sexy. I, Kurt Hummel was what these useless human beings wanted to spend their time on, and when they were done with me I could crawl home and pretend everything was okay.

In the depths of my mind, in the darkest, most twisted corners of my mind I think I knew why. I think I knew why getting what I thought I wanted only made me more miserable, why the idea of everyone knowing my secrets was thrilling, why dark fantasies plagued my dreams and haunted my thoughts. But I refused to acknowledge it, because that would mean getting better.

Approaching age 16 and approaching the end of my freshman year of high school, I, Kurt Hummel was as lonely, confused, and emotionally unstable as a teenager could be without attracting too much attention from his oblivious, but good hearted father. I was a twisted child desperate for a way out, a release, something out of the norm that could reassure me when I closed my eyes at night that I had a story to tell, and everyone would listen. The cutting was losing its edge, and after a while I stopped. Not because I wanted to, but because it no longer did anything for me. I needed more. I needed my nightmares, my dreams to come true.

It was around that time that I met… that I met _them._


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N- This**** story is **_**highly**_** based off of my own experiences so please keep that in mind with any criticisms you want to throw at me. The terms used at the beginning of this are all terms that were thrown at me at one time or another. **

**I know I said Blaine would be in this chapter, but it came out way too long so I'm pushing it to next chapter. **

_**My OC Ethan should be a scruffy, run down version of Brian Kinney from queer as folk**_**. Yes, yes I know it seems stereotypical but I always thought the parallel man to Ethan from my life looked a lot like him, so there. **

_**This will not be all OC's, in fact I have some awesome ideas for certain canon characters including Santana, puck, Lauren, and especially Brittany. Hint: Brittany will be Kurt's Algernon. I so hope someone will understand that reference and what it means. **_

_**Un-beta'd, will replace it when it is.**_

_**I do not own glee, please review!**_

There are a few things about me that you should know. Ever since I was born, I have had a gift that few people ever have, and many people would sell their soul for. It is both the greatest gift of all and the minds greatest curse. You will find people with it on Wall Street, you will see them in casinos and thick expensive business suits. It's a skill that can't be learned, and anyone who tries would make themselves look a fool.

I don't know what it is called, or even if it has a name. Over the years I have collected a few terms that hold pieces of the puzzle, but not all of them. The closest one was Machiavellianism, but then there was histrionic PD and pathological lying which no one, not even those closest to me ever suspected me of doing. Then there were psychopathic tendencies and I always ended it there because I was _not _a psychopath.

I may be able to manipulate anyone into anything; I may be the quietest version of a true histrionic, and I may have the worst case of compulsive lying _I _have ever seen, but I do have the ability to love. I feel remorse differently, and less than most people it is true, but I have always loved my father, and I love and miss my mother very much. And despite everything else, I have always dreamed of falling in love.

O.o.O

The cutting had stopped working. It no longer sent me to a trance of numbness and sadness where you could laugh and cry and feel perfectly okay, if only for a while. I knew I needed more, and for 2 weeks I felt imprisoned. There was nowhere to go. I had no friends, no life, I hardly had a family, and now I had no release.

The nightmares that swirled in my unconscious hours became more and more, and I would wake up in the middle of the night with a straining erection and the memory of faceless men screaming 'whore!' still echoing in my ear. I think part of me hated myself for longing my dreams to become a reality, or maybe I just loved the idea of having a set reason to hate myself. Either way, I had a new reason to cry myself to sleep, and that was self disgust.

I thought it would have been hard. I thought it would have been near impossible, but in the end it was the easiest thing I ever did, the greatest thing I ever did, and the biggest regret of my life, all in one.

I had been casually walking to class when I passed by Noah Puckerman, the school badass who everyone knew was deep into sex and drugs, when I heard a casual reference to weed. At first I had thought 'puck doing drugs, what else is new?'

Then something clicked in my head, and I stopped in my tracks so abruptly a timid looking girl ran right into my back, but I did not notice.

In the deepest corners of my mind, the corners of my mind I only visited in those dark moments before sleeping, I had always wondered what it was like. School had filled my head with horrible scenarios of rape, car crashes, death and destruction, but there had to be a reason people did it all the same. I had been drunk before, and I would be lying if I said that it hadn't been the most amazing experience of my life, even if the fallowing hangover had prevented me from taking even a sip of alcohol ever again, even in my darkest days. I had often daydreamed of sitting alone in my room, feeling my consciousness reach new levels of… something. I wanted to know what.

I wanted to know what it felt like to feel smoke, powder, needles, or any form of a substance change the way I experienced time and emotions. When I was drunk, the world had spun inside my head and my body seemed to float through every movement, and I wondered if being high was even better. I was sure it was, and I knew that drugs, or at least some drugs, had no hangovers. To me, that seemed like the silver lining to the whole experience.

The second the idea came, it became my greatest desire, and I was determined to get some form of a high, whether it was through weed, coke, even heroin. I did not care. I wanted to be absorbed in something, to drown in it.

I would also be lying if I said I did not want the drugs so I could hurt myself.

I wanted to feel myself spiraling downward in a haze of psychedelic spirals, and I wanted to land face first onto rock bottom and laugh until I cried because I didn't even feel it.

I wanted to sit in the afterglow, hold a needle in my hand and watch as the liquid disappears into my veins, and I wanted to watch my skin bruise.

Standing there motionless in the hallway, my heart beat a thunderous rhythm against my ribcage, I knew what I needed to do.

O.o.O

"Puck. Puck! PUCK!"

"What!" puck turned around fiercely, looking down at me with an annoyed expression the turned to curious once he saw I was the one calling him.

"Puck." I said breathily, trying to catch my breath after chasing the guy down two whole hallways. "I need… I need a favor."

He was looking at me expectantly, and I had absolutely no idea what to say. What do you say to someone when asking if they have any drugs to sell?

"I was wondering if you knew any dealers who would sell to me?" I said in a rush, talking strictly to pucks left elbow.

"Dude… are you sure? I mean drugs are awesome and all that but you… you're…" he trailed off looking confused at his own words.

With a daring I was completely unaware of possessing, I looked puck in the eyes and said "I'm sure, puck."

Puck looked slightly guiltily for a moment, then seemed to shake himself out of it, plastering on his usual arrogant smile.

"Of course dude! I know the perfect guy for you too. He's a f- gay too." said puck.

Puck pulled out his cell phone, and as he recited the man named Ethan's number to me, I felt a powerful buildup of giddy anticipation that rendered me nearly useless for the rest of the day.

By the time I got home, I was so excited and anxious I nearly tripped 4 times in my haste to get to my room, pulling out my phone on the way.

It was when I was seated on my bed, phone in hand, that my excitement seem to drain from my body, being replaced unmistakably by fear.

What was I suppose to do, call the guy and say 'hey can I have some drugs?' Is that what most people did? Or is there some secret code I'm supposed to know, and I'll get laughed at if I don't know it…

My finger lingered over the call button for a good ten minutes before I pressed down, then ended the call after the first ring.

I was being stupid, cowardly, and weak. It's just a stupid phone call after all, get it over with!

So I did.

I pressed the call button and after 6 rings that each and every one nearly sent me into a full swing panic attack, a gruff, irritated voice, presumably Ethan's voice, answered.

"Yes?"

"Um… hi." I said nervously.

"What do you want?"

"Um, well I was just…drugs!" I said the last part a little hysterically, screaming it into the speaker.

"Come over then, and bring money." The gruff voice said with finality and promptly hung up the phone.

Feeling slightly offended, but also smaller than usual, I then dialed the number again. Did he expect me to just _know_ where he lived?

"What!" the man bellowed into my ear.

"I need to know your address! How else am I supposed to get there?"

There was a brief pause, then the man said "fine." And he recited his address, Kurt nearly toppling over backwards in his haste to jot it down. "There's a big shed in the back yard, just go in there." And with that Ethan hung up again.

After that I had a completely hysterical panic attack on my bedroom floor. I hyperventilated, sobbed shrilly, and twitched on the floor for a good 30 minutes before I remembered the guy expected me to be there _now_.

I tried as hard as possible not to let that fact alone send me into another wave of hysteria, and got myself together as thoroughly and quickly as possible. Remembering what puck said about the dealer being gay, I dressed into something that accented all my best features. A tight long sleeved shirt to accentuate my arms and tight black vest for my slip hips, and the tightest pair of blue jeans I could find to show off my ass and legs.

I should have seen the warning signs then, when I dressed as sexy as possible for a complete stranger solely because I knew he was gay, and therefore could, possibly find me sexually attractive. I already knew from the phone call he could hardly be called polite, and yet the idea of someone finding me attractive was able to send a thrill through my body, even though I was still panicking to no end.

I did have a car at the time, but I didn't have my license. I wasn't even 16 yet, but I could drive. Surely no one would pull me over if I was careful, and anyway I did have a learners permit. My dad wasn't expected home for at least another 5 hours since he always worked late on Wednesdays… and this address only seemed about ten minutes away. I would be fine. I would be safe. No worries.

So my first time driving alone was during an only slightly calmed panic, my shaking hands gripping the steering wheel in a death grip to keep myself from vomiting out the window.

I still have no idea how I got to where I needed to go while I was in such a state, and I have genuinely no clue how I didn't end up in a ditch somewhere 50 miles away from where I was heading, but after 15 torturous minutes I got there, and just like Ethan said, there was a large shed behind a truly unfortunate looking house, looking completely innocent apart from the steady stream of smoke pouring from the cracked window.

O.o.O

Gathering up all my courage, I knocked on the door loudly, wondering why in the world the smoke oozing from underneath the door smelled like a mixture of burning rubber and skunk, and the same gruff voice yelled "come in!"

I was so scared of what I might find inside that my hands shook so badly I could hardly turn the rusty door knob. Maybe I was expecting some mass, condom-less, lube-less gay orgy. Perhaps I was expecting to find large men in leather with whips at the ready.

Turns out however that after a massive gust of smoke rolled out of the door and cleared into the fresh air, I found just 5 men sitting on scruffy furniture watching low volume porn and passing around a truly disgusting looking soda bottle. Every face turned towards me for a second, and then went back to what they had been doing previously.

One, heavily bearded man was holding a lighter, clicking it on over and over again, staring at the flame as if it where the eye of god.

Another chubby man sitting next to him was chopping up a suspicious white powder with intense concentration on top of what was clearly a copy playboy magazine. I wondered fleetingly what in the world that was doing here. That I realized, surely not _all_ of them were gay. Puck just said Ethan was gay. I was slightly disgusted by my own presumption, and I wasn't quite sure why.

The two other guys were sitting on a separate couch, seemingly engrossed in the porn film playing on a 90's television set placed lazily on the floor, one of them looking as though it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen or imagined in his entire life. I tried hard to ignore the movie.

Another man, a man who looked as though he had once been extremely handsome, was staring shamelessly at the front of my jeans. He looked young, perhaps early twenties, but he also looked as though he had spent most of his time on the streets. He was skinny, his dirty blond, semi-short hair looked cleanly washed but his face was messily shaved and he had muscles protruding from his tank top that looked as though they had not gotten there from working out. His rough existence seemed to have stolen most of his looks, and replaced it with a different brand of handsome.

The man stood up and walked right towards me, a malicious grin on his face. He got so close to me that we were sharing the same air, our bodies almost touching. I was pushed against the door so there was no way to step back, even if I had wanted to. A longing for him to press out bodies together overcame me for a second so that I sighed shakily and looked up at him through my eyelashes.

"I'm Ethan" the man, Ethan, said to my lips.

"k-Kurt" I whimpered.

"So what is it you want?"

"d-dru- drugs." I said pathetically, wishing my heart rate would stop turning me into a blubbering mess. Ethan's scruffy cheeks and muscled arms were starting to make my pants increasingly uncomfortable, yet the idea of him moving away from me seemed like it would tear me apart.

Ethan let out a bark of a laugh, then said with a grin "what type of drugs, pretty boy?"

"A-anything. I just want to feel something." I said, gaining confidence with the man's sneering compliment. He observed me for a minute.

"Come sit with me." Said Ethan.

He moved towards the dirty old orange couch right in front of the television, and then plunked down in the only available seat by the arm, and stared at the bearded man with the lighter sitting right next to him expectantly. When all the man did was click away at the lighter even faster, Ethan punched him hard in the arm and barked loudly "Cody! Move!"

Cody started as though he hadn't noticed there were other people in the room, caught sight of Ethan's death glare, rolled his eyes, and got up slowly to go sit on a rickety stool to resume playing with the lighter.

Ethan patted the seat next to him, and ever so cautiously I sat down, one arm pressed against him, the other arm pressed against the chubby man who was now scrutinizing the chopped up powder.

One of the porn watching men passed Ethan the disgusting soda bottle filled with a rancid looking green liquid inside. Wondering what in the world they were doing with such a thing, I noticed it had a thin metal pipe sticking out of one of the sides, the outside end covered in tin foil and the other end resting in the greenish liquid.

To my utter horror, Ethan actually _put his mouth_ onto of the dirty bottle, placed the lit lighter carefully towards the pipe protruding from the side, and began to suck in air. Thick grey smoke filled the bottle within seconds, and Ethan inhaled every last puff while the sickly water bubbled and gurgled.

After he was done, he sat back against the couch holding his breath, and then blew the smoke out in one long stream up into the air. Ethan then looked over at me, scrutinizing me for a second before holding the bottle out for me.

"Want a hit?" he croaked.

I stared down at the bottle, becoming less and less aware of my surroundings and more and more aware of my heart that seemed determined to beat itself right out of my chest. This was the moment. I could take this hit and feel what I had been longing for for days, searching for for months. Anticipation welled up inside of me, and soon I had to decide how to handle the situation.

Do I try and act like I know what I'm doing and quite possibly make a complete fool of myself, or do I ask for help. Surely the later would be better, but how to do it?

I blinked up and Ethan through my thick lashes and said pityingly "I've never done this before… show me?"

A smile spread across Ethan's face at my shameless flirting, and he held out the bottle for me to take. Once I had, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and said "I'll light it for you, all you have to do is _suck_ as hard as you can when I tell you to. After you get as much as you can, hold it for as long as possible before blowing out. Ready?"

I nodded; wishing this moment could last forever, and put my moth to the top of the bottle like Ethan had done. He lit an ashy green substance that was lying in a bowl of tin foil at the end of the protruding pipe and said seductively after a second, "suck."

So I did. I sucked in for about 2 second before pulling away, having used about all my self-restraint to keep from coughing into the bottle and even more restraint to hold the burning, scratching smoke in my lungs. I was able to keep it in for about 3 seconds before I went into a coughing fit, feeling as though my very lungs were trying to escape through my mouth.

After a few minutes it died down however, and I found Ethan taking the rest of the smoke that I hadn't gotten.

It had tasted like a mixture between freshly mown grass and skunk, and I was so preoccupied with the taste that I didn't even notice how I seemed completely unable to tear my eyes away from coat hanger in the corner, and how my mouth seemed oddly reluctant to close from its current position of dumb gaping. I shook my head, and as I turned to Ethan I found him handing me the bottle once again, and I felt as though I had just woken up from a very, very long nap.

"What is it?" I said, surprised to find my voice sounding distant, as though someone else was speaking.

"Weed. No worries. You want me to light it again?"

"Is it usually this strong?" I said slowly, almost unable to move my jaw, making my words sound slurred.

Ethan smiled broadly, looked smug. "No, man. This is the strongest shit you can get around here. One puff and a lightweight like you will be crawling around on the floor chasing invisible bugs. It would be stronger but this bitch Santana stole my good pipe." He leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. "And it's laced… with just a hint of PCP." He whispered, biting my earlobe afterwards. For a while I thought he was just sitting there biting my ear, but apparently he had pulled seconds ago, but my ear seemed to think he hadn't. I could still feel his teeth.

"I think… I think I need a minute." I said warily, falling back onto the sofa cushions and thinking it was the most comfortable thing I had ever experienced.

After what seemed both 5 seconds and 2 hours at the same time, after a few rounds of all the men in the room passing the bottle around in silence, the chubby man with the powder said loudly "it's done!"

Ethan sat up quick and observed the white powder, smiling broadly.

Not being able to tell the difference between polite and rude anymore, I said "what is it?"

Ethan smiled at me. "Cocaine, little boy." Then he took the magazine with the powder on it from the man and began using the razor to put it into short, thick lines.

I couldn't seem to be able to think straight, I couldn't observe the situation like I usually could. All of a sudden I became paranoid that they would think I was annoying if I asked to have a line. Would they let me have some? Did they tell me if they would and I just don't remember?

Feeling reckless I said "can I have some?"

The chubby man glared at me, making me feel tiny and insignificant, but Ethan just smiled, placed the magazine on a table and leaned into my ear again.

"I'll tell you what, I'll let you have one of my lines of you wrap that pretty mouth around my cock."

He pulled back obviously expecting me to say no, to storm out indignantly so he could laugh about the naïve little boy. He looked at me as though he knew exactly how I would react. But on the contrary, I thought sucking a cock and more drugs were two things I wanted to do very much, and if I had to do one to get the other, it was like paying 50 dollars to get 200 dollars.

"Are you serious? Would you actually let me have a line?" I said earnestly, still looking at him from beneath my eyelashes.

Ethan gave me a startled look, and I saw something like envy in gaze, but then he was grinning again and said "of course. Come on."

And without another word he stood up and dragged me by the hand out of the shed, earning a wolf whistle from one of the porn watching men.

Once we were outside in the sunlight, he leaded against the wall and looked at me expectantly, eyebrow raised. I was certain he thought I was going to run away.

I really couldn't believe this was happening. 3 hours ago I thought I would be lucky if the dealer even answered his phone, now I was high on marijuana after just one hit, about to have my first sexual experience ever, and do cocaine.

Part of me realized I should be more alarmed that I was about to sell my first sexual experience to a complete stranger for a line of coke, but if I was honest with myself I was absolutely thrilled at the idea. But all the same, a scared, vulnerable 13 year old boy seemed to peek from behind the strong walls I had created for myself in my mind, and he had cried for what he was seeing. I ignored him.

The only reason I was terrified was because I might be terrible at giving head, so I conjured up ever porn video I had ever seen and concentrated hard on the task at hand.

I walked up to him so we were face to face, him looking down and me looking up, then I dropped to my knees right there on the damp earth and set to unbuckling Ethan's pants.

The marijuana made concentration seem the only thing I was capable of doing. It was as though once I had my task in front of me, every bit of my brain was focused on that task, and absolutely nothing could disrupt this. I'm sure a full on hurricane could have been billowing around us and I wouldn't have noticed in the slightest.

There seemed to be a voice chanting in the back of my mind screaming 'you're unbuckling another guy's jeans! You're pulling down another guy's pants! You're staring at another guy's erection through his briefs!'

And then the briefs were down.

I, Kurt Hummel, approaching age 16, had another man's cock in my mouth for the first time in my life so that I could snort a line of cocaine while already high on pot. I was absolutely ecstatic.

I twirled my tongue and pumped with my hand the parts I couldn't reach with my mouth. I even discovered I had no gag reflex, and even through my determined concentration I thanked the god I didn't believe in right then and there for such a gift. I learned what Ethan liked quickly, and ran my thumb across his slit and down the thick vein as he pulled and grabbed at my hair.

I looked up at him every now and again as he moaned quietly, roughly pushing my mouth forward onto him ruthlessly, pitilessly. I loved it. I loved how he was using my mouth, and for a moment I felt worthless, _a whore. _I wanted to cry, but I couldn't tell if they were happy tears or sad ones.

I was so turned on my entire body seemed to be burning, and when Ethan began to come in my mouth without so much as a warning, I swallowed as much as I could, some dribbling down my chin.

That's how I found out I gave excellent blowjobs.

Before I could say a word, I was pulled up by the shirt and received a sloppy, lazy kiss from Ethan that sent another fresh jolt of arousal through my body, and then something like shame that was quickly followed by excitement welled inside of me as I realized I just had my first kiss.

He pulled back and looked at me as though he had never seen such a thing before, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes that rendered me completely still for a moment.

But then Ethan was walking back inside, and not quite remembering how I got there, I ended up back on the couch next to him as if nothing had even happened.

Indeed, the entire experience felt like some vivid daydream, and I found myself genuinely unsure if it had actually happened. So unsure in fact, I even asked Ethan I had really given him a blow job.

Ethan just laughed his bark of a laugh, swiped his nose across one line of white powder with a loud sniff making the substance disappear from beneath him, and handed me the magazine so I could have my first ever line of cocaine.

O.o.O

I arrived home three and a half hours later, ten minutes before dad usually did. It was seven o'clock at night and I looked a mess. My hair was everywhere; my lips were swollen due to an hour long make out session with Ethan that resulted in yet another blowjob to earn me another line of coke, which had been taped by Cody the lighter guy from Ethan's phone. I still had to pay 15 bucks for the amount of weed I smoked, but I had a plan on how to earn that back. My knees were covered in dirt and my shirt had cum stains on it. My dick ached due to the constant, unrelieved state of arousal it had been in for 5 hours, and worst of all, I was still so high that walking from the car to the house felt like I was going 60 miles an hour.

One second I was getting out of the car, the next second I was at the front door, and then I was in the shower with no memory of getting to any of those places except a strange swirl of colors and noises.

By the time I was getting out of the shower, I remembered I had turned the stove on for absolutely no reason at all, and rushed off naked to go turn it off. It took 3 trips to the kitchen to do so however, because every time I got there I would forget why I went, then when I got back to my room I would remember again. Having done all this completely naked, I was incredibly grateful my dad seemed to be getting home late. I was sure I wouldn't have noticed him arriving until after he had seen me playing with the stove butt naked and twitching due to cocaine and weed.

With a gut wrenching pang, I wondered what my dad would have thought if he knew his only son was now getting _drugs _my sucking a stranger's cock. The pang got worse when I realized I had no intention of drawing the line there. In fact I doubted I even had a line.

When I walked into my room, it looked different. The walls were still their sterile white and the furniture was a neat as ever, but the room looked as though it belonged to someone else. It looked clean, innocent, void of all the things I had become in the last five hours.

Feeling exhausted, and not quite sure if I had actually turned the stove off, or if I had even turned it on in the first place, I collapsed on my bed completely naked, at least having the peace of mind to get under the covers incase my dad came in.

before I drifted off into a deep sleep, I thought of the sad, envious look in Ethan's eyes, and wondered what had put it there.

.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N- ****This story is **_**highly**_** based off of my own experiences so please keep that in mind with any criticisms you want to throw at me. The dub-con sex scene in this was extremely hard for me to write for obvious reasons. I just felt like I needed to say that. **

**I completed all of this while listening to dark side of the moon on repeat. It was awesome. **

**DUB-CON WARNING, WITH NON-CON THEMES. DO NOT READ IF THAT IS A TRIGGER. You can skip that part if you like (O.o.O – O.o.O is a part) the part where it happens starts with "I lost my virginity…"**

**Blainers is here :) also I just want to say, this isn't a story about Blaine saving Kurt, it's about Kurt saving himself.**

**I do not own glee please review! **

"As bees their sting, so the promiscuous leave behind them in each encounter something of themselves by which they are made to suffer." –Cyril Connolly

The first thing I remember feeling the next day was out of place in my own mind.

I was sober, and although I had only gotten high once, and although it had only lasted 5 hours before I fell asleep, it was as though my mind was suppose to be flying, and to be on the ground was like trying to walk on water.

The idea of going to school in an hour was outright despicable, but somehow I managed to ghost my way through my morning routine and slide into a somewhat decent outfit.

Everything around me looked different. It was like looking at the possessions of long lost friend who had died and left you standing in the rain, covered in blood and so, so alone. My clothes felt like lies, and when I looked in the mirror I saw my neck was covered in bruises. My lips still looked swollen, and when I remembered the feeling of Ethan's cock in my mouth I buckled over a gagged.

It was done. I couldn't take my actions back, and even that made me feel imprisoned. I couldn't change time, and even if I could, would I?

The night before had been my twisted dream come true, and although I still felt pride and accomplishment, I also felt as though part of me had gone forever. To think of even two days ago was like thinking of lost childhood memories, too distant to relate to.

My father was sitting at the kitchen table when I went upstairs, and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I was scared that if I did he would somehow see the truth in my worthless face.

I couldn't help thinking, 'if only he knew…' Part of me even wished to tell him. Part of me wanted to tell him how horrible I had been, how much I had hurt myself. I wanted to show him the scars on my arms and I wanted to tell him that I had been a whore. I wanted him to hold my hand like he had after my mother had died; I wanted him to tell me everything would be okay and that somehow things could be normal again.

But when I looked into his eyes I knew I could never do that. I loved him, and the knowledge would tear him apart.

When he asked about the purple under my eyes and the scarf around my neck worn on a warm day, I told him I was catching a cold. I ached with shame when he told me I should stay home, how he said it with such concern, but I still did it anyway.

O.o.O

I went to Ethan's that day while my dad was at work. Apparently his parents had kicked him out and left him with nothing but his extremely large trust fund, and Ethan saw that as an iron clad reason not to have a job. The second I walked into that dingy old shed, all the shame I had experienced that morning seemed to evaporate. It was as though this shed with its nasty couches and cracked window was my safe haven, were it was okay to be broken because everyone else was too.

When I got inside there were only four people. Ethan, Cody the lighter guy, and two girls I recognized from school. They were on the cheer team at McKinley, and they were juniors. Apparently they had skipped school too.

One of the girls was a dotty looking blonde wearing tight shorts and a spaghetti strap under shirt, while the other girl was a fierce looking Latina wearing a skin tight, low cut, and very short black dress who I recognized at Santana lopez.

When the Santana saw me walk in she looked at me for a moment, then broke out into laughter. I tried to ignore her, but her laughter still rang in my ears as I went to sit next to Ethan who was smirking at me sinisterly. He patted his lap, and with a strange reappearance of shame, I got up and sat on it. Santana laughed again.

The blonde girl however came to sit with us and said "Hi, I'm Brittany!"

I smiled at her and said "I'm Kurt." My smile turned into a grimace however when the thickly bearded, grimy looking Cody who was sitting next to her wrapped his arm around her and began to suck at her neck. Brittany didn't look as though this was strange, but I saw Santana look at the man with a pronounced hatred.

I leaned into Ethan's ear and said "are they dating?" for I couldn't see two people more unlikely to be attracted to each other.

Ethan just laughed loudly and reached for the table to take off a spun glass object. It was blue and green, and I recognized it is a pipe, for I had seen my grandfather smoking a wooden one when I was little.

He placed it on my lap then reached over again to get a large bag filled with green shriveled up leaves all clumped together because they were still on their stems. He placed that on my lap too, and I saw small white crystals and bright red streaks mixed in with the bright green. I recognized it as marijuana.

As Ethan began pinching off chunks of the weed and stuffing it tightly into the bowl of the pipe, I asked "Is this kind laced too?"

"No" he said distractedly, "you brought money right?"

I smiled widely and said breathily "yah."

O.o.O

Going to Ethan's became a norm for me. Every day after school I would go over there and we would get high. Some days I would pay him money, and some days I would give him a blowjob, or give one to whatever friends had brought the drugs that day. Some didn't want to look at me while I did it because they wanted to pretend I was a girl. Others pulled my hair so fiercely they tore small chunks out of my scalp, but to me those were just a new type of scar. Those Scars were just as beautiful as the ones that laced my arms, and they were part of me.

When the men pretended I was someone else, they would sometimes whimper and moan out the names of those who had their thoughts. It made me feel worthless, and I loved having another reason to hate myself. It was as though I was searching for any way to prove I was nothing, and clung to every excuse like a life line. For reasons I didn't find out until much later, those sick little victories kept me going day after day.

I started losing weight, and my cheeks started to hallow out slightly. Ethan told me I got more handsome every day, and maybe I did, but the dark purple splotches under my eyes started to grow as well.

I had asked my dad to text me if he ever planned on coming home early just so I wouldn't think it was a burglar, but really I wanted a heads up so I could get home from Ethan's before my dad did.

My father couldn't help but notice that every time he saw me I would become more and more sick looking. It took a good hour and a half of yelling and persuading one Friday afternoon to keep him from taking me to the doctor when I had come home with bloodshot eyes, almost unable to put one foot in front of the other. The last thing I needed was a blood test. Part of me was surprised he didn't catch on, but I think my father would have never guessed I would do drugs. He thought it would be completely out of character, so he believed every lie I threw at him and in the end concluded that I was just letting the bullies get to me. I just hoped that excuse could last through the summer.

Whenever I was at Ethan's, I couldn't help noticing the way Santana's eyes sparkled when she looked at Brittany, and the way Santana always stood slightly ahead of her, as if ready to protect her if the situation came.

Brittany was, as my first impression of her had suspected, not the smartest of people. It actually was to the point where I figured she must be mentally retarded to some level, but I didn't care. She was the only person in that shed that never sneered at me. She treated me like a human, and I came to love her as a friend.

She let men take advantage of her however, and she didn't seem to realize that was what she was doing. Men would take her out back and fuck her, and then she would come inside and act as though all they had done was have pleasant conversation. She never got anything from it, and it broke my heart. I couldn't understand how someone could take advantage at an innocent, sweet girl like Brittany and still sleep soundly at night.

Every day I was watching to see when the light in her eyes would go out like I was sure mine were doing, like I knew Ethan's had done, but they never did. It both annoyed and fascinated me.

The worst part was seeing the look on Santana's face as these greasy, wasted men would hurt her. Every time Brittany would leave the shed with a man, Santana would whisper something in Brittany's ear and then sit down, obviously trying to restrain herself from crying.

Knowing full well that Santana was the school bitch, I had first thought she was jealous. But then as time wore on it became obvious that she truly cared for Brittany. There had been this one time when Brittany had been about to go out with one of Ethan's acid dealers, and Cody the lighter guy had offered to tape it on the guys phone. Brittany had absolutely loved the idea, thinking she could become internet famous.

Santana however had stood up and showed a fierceness that seemed to vibrate through the entire room. She had screamed at the acid dealer in Spanish, occasionally interjected with English curse words. Brittany had looked genuinely confused, and when Santana slapped the man across the face with a ringed hand so hard she drew blood, Brittany had come to sit next to me and I held her while she cried.

For a moment, I was the one who was jealous. I remembered how Cody had taped me giving Ethan a blowjob my very first day here, and I wished someone had fought for my well being. I imagined some nameless, faceless boy swooping in and saving me from myself. He would tell me everything was okay, and magically it would become so. He would kiss me, and love me for the messed up, twisted, broken child that I was.

When the dealer had left without getting laid, Santana had turned on Cody the liger guy and punched him in the face. I had no idea a girl with such skinny arms could punch so hard to cause a gigantic black bruise, but apparently there was a lot about Santana that didn't meet the eye.

Brittany had refused to look at Santana for a whole hour while she whispered unheard things into the frightened and confused girl's ear. After an hour however, Brittany unburied herself from my shoulder and hugged Santana, and they spent the rest of the day curled up together on the sofa. I had never seen Santana more at ease.

O.o.O

I lost my virginity on the last day of my freshman year of high school. It had been my idea of a normal day; just going to Ethan's after school while my dad was still at work.

Ethan had gotten a new acid dealer named 'Bubha' since the Santana incident. I couldn't actually believe that was the guys name, but at least he was mildly attractive. He was normal height and bony but with awesome hair and a straight nose. I had never done acid before, and I was anxious to do it because although I had heard it was the best experience one could have, it also made people a danger to themselves.

When Bubha had gotten to the shed, he and Ethan did the exchange and decided they would trip together. I had glared at Ethan because I was getting tired of him doing drugs without me _right in front of me_, but Ethan smiled and began having a whispered conversation with Bubha. I tried to listen in, but I couldn't hear what the two were saying, all I knew was that Bubha was smirking like a fool.

I wasn't stupid, and I was sure I was about to be sold off to suck this guys dick before I was allowed to have a tab of the acid Bubha had in his pocket, and I couldn't help thinking how lucky I was that something so simple could get me something I wanted so much.

Ethan and Bubha turned to me.

"Kurt," Ethan said "I have a mattress out back, you know the one Brittany always uses, Bubha here says he'll give you two tabs if he can fuck you." Ethan was staring at me with that same look he had the first time he had asked for a blowjob. He was expecting me to back out, to run.

It was true that my heart rate increased terribly with the end of Ethan's words, and for a moment I was completely still.

Virginity had never meant to me what it meant to other people. I always knew that if the opportunity to lose it presented itself, no matter the circumstances, I would be unable to say no.

But it was frightening to just have it thrown at me like that. I wanted to say yes so badly, and at the time I had no idea why.

I stood up and walked towards them.

"What's acid like, Ethan?" I said, avoiding Bubha's gaze.

Looking as though he was trying to hide the fact that he was taken aback, though I couldn't imagine why, Ethan said "It's like falling down the rabbit hole."

"I'll tell you what," said Bubha "how 'bout you take the tabs now, and when they start to take effect, then well go out back. There's nothing better than sex on hallucinogens."

I stared at him for a moment, and then nodded, casting my head down.

Once we had all sat down, Bubha pulled out of his pocket a wad of tinfoil, and unwrapped it to reveal a few small squares of paper. He handed Ethan three and me two, and then swallowed four for himself. Ethan and I swallowed the small pieces of paper. I waited for something to happen, but nothing did.

"How long does it take?" I asked.

"30 minutes to an hour. It last about six though." Answered Ethan as he laid back against the couch and began riffling through the channels on the 90's TV set.

I stared at him. "Six hours. I have to leave in 3!" I said, outraged. Ethan ignored me.

After about 40 minutes, I found myself staring at the coat rack. At first I didn't notice anything was different, it was just a coat rack. But then I started noticing that the coats wrack was breathing, and for a moment I believed it was a wood nymph in disguise, until I realized wood nymphs surely would put up with so many coats on their arms. Then I realized wood nymphs didn't exist, and for I moment I felt as though this information was like finding out that Santa didn't exist all over again.

The music playing from the television began to pulse through my body, and I could have sworn my heart beat was conducting the tune. More minutes passed as I felt my heartbeat wave and dance with the music.

I put my right hand over my chest, my other hand laying on my thigh, and some time later I experienced a moment of horror when I realized my right hand was much larger than my left. I began to freak out, I even started to tear up, until I held both hands in front of my face so they had the same perspective and realized they were the same size again. My hands looked like planets, floating there in space, and I suddenly realized I was my own being, experiencing space and time separately from all other beings. For a moment I almost felt like god.

Bubha seemed to notice I had begun feeling the drug, because he took my hand and led me outside. I looked back into the shed as we went through the door, and saw Ethan lying flat on his back on the floor, arm reaching out in front of him into the air, as if trying to grab something only he could see.

The trip to the mattress behind the shed felt like a lifetime. I found myself staring at the sun, overwhelmed with the truth of its size, and how it was just a ball of burning gas in space. The reality seemed too much to comprehend, and it was as though the truth of its existence could tear me apart just by thinking about it. I didn't even notice it had been burning my eyes.

But then I was thrown onto the bed roughly, and Bubha was tearing off my pants. Once my pants were off he turned me roughly onto my stomach and began pulling my boxer briefs down while licking up my legs and ass.

I felt as though my very consciousness was centered in my lower spine, in the same way a sober mind's consciousness is centered near the eyes. Every time he licked or bit me it felt like he was doing it to my entire body, not just that one spot.

I heard the snap of a bottle opening, and then two fingers were roughly thrust into me without any warning and I cried out. I had my eyes closed, and there where swirls of colors behind my eyelids that danced with Bubha's finger.

After only two fingers he was pushing inside of me, and I began to cry silently. For a minute I had no idea where I was, all I knew was a Stanger was thrusting into me, and it hurt worse than anything I had ever felt in my life.

The entire world, all of existence was centered and concentrated in these particles and nerve endings. Nothing else in the world existed except for this stranger hurting me and using me, and even their air was tainted. I and this stranger were floating in space, bound by this pain that was all I could see.

Soon I began to smell the noises of skin slapping on skin, and I didn't understand it. How could you smell a sound? But at the same time it made perfect sense, because no matter what common sense said, I smelled the sound and I could taste it on my tongue, and I wanted to throw up and get such a horrid thing out of my body.

Later I would know that it was the drugs and Bubha's indifference to my well being that made it so painful and strange, and somewhere inside I knew that it wasn't always that bad, but in that moment I was disgusted with myself.

The acid was making him feel huge inside me; as if he was filling up my entire body and ruining everything I was on the inside. When he came I felt his come inside me, and to my horror, I realized he hadn't used a condom. It felt like poison, and I wanted nothing more than for it to leave my body, or for my body to leave me.

As he pulled out, pulled up his pants and walked away, I just curled up half naked and cried, trying to pretend the swirls and colors behind my eyelids were telling me it was all a bad dream. I don't know how, but the spirals told me everything was okay.

O.o.O

I cried myself to sleep again that night, and my bed felt even more foreign then it had before. I had called Mercedes and begged her to take me home, but then hung up when I realized my dad would notice if my car mysteriously disappeared. It was already a miracle he hadn't noticed it getting dirtier.

Driving home that day was one of the most dangerous things I have ever done. During one terrifying minute I had realized only a second on time that I was driving in the wrong lane, and I had almost had a head on collision with a school bus. I ran at least 3 stop lights, and I spent the entire time trying not to believe that all the other cars were just bugs, and that I had shrank and was operating a car disguised as a bug to fool the other bugs. It would have been funny if I hadn't been sure I was going to die.

The next day I didn't go to Ethan's, but instead lay in bed and tried to absorb the truth of what had happened, or more so what I had done. I had consented to be fucked by a stranger so I could do acid, but the irony of it was that the acid had made it a million times worse.

I found myself trying to convince myself that it was worth it, which I had done a million times before; this was just knocking it up a level. I tried to feel that souring pride I had felt after I gave my first blowjob.

I remembered how the first time I sucked Ethan off It had felt like part of me had left my body. This time it was much more apparent, much more potent. I felt as though every cell in my body had sizzled out only to be replaced with ashes.

By the end of the day I had managed to burry my shame into the back of my mind, to ignore it ever happened. Instead I allowed myself to see the night previous as a learning experience, something to look back on next time.

O.o.O

One day early on in the summer, I had come over to Ethan's around 11 because he had told me he had a new stash of coke and would give me some if I sucked off the guy he got it from. It hadn't been the most pleasant experience of my life because the man was overweight and hairy, but I got it over with and after I had a few good hits of weed and had my line and a half of coke I had pretty much forgotten. I hadn't been fucked since that one horrible occasion, but blowjobs were old news and weren't much of a big deal to me anymore.

Ethan and I were the only ones there after the dealer had left, and around noon we heard raised voiced coming from right outside the door.

"I don't see why you had to bring _him _Brit!"

"He's nice Santana! And I forced him to come so don't be mean to him. A lot of people are mean to him and I like being nice to people."

The door slammed open and Santana stormed inside and fell onto the couch looking highly irritated. Brittany hopped in looked cheerful as ever and sat down next to Santana. After a beat, a timid boy who looked around my age scuttled in looking supremely out of place. His black hair was gelled down, and he was wearing a bowtie and suspenders with ankle length pants and a tucked in, button down shirt.

I couldn't help but feel a few butterflies flutter around in my stomach. The boy looked like a textbook nerd, but he was also classically handsome. His large honey eyes surveyed the room with curiosity, but also with fear.

He sat himself timidly next to Brittany, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else but there.

He didn't seem to want to look at anyone, and for the next hour I found myself staring at him as he did nothing at all accept exchange a few words with Brittany.

Ethan became annoyed at my inattention and began sucking on my neck, and that seemed to gain the boys attention. He caught sight of us and his eyes widened almost comically, and then he turned away fast. I smirked to myself and captured Ethan's lips on my own. After making out with Ethan for a few hours and passing around Santana's new bong a few times, the timid boy refusing to so much as touch it, Ethan went out to the store while I wandered over to the new boy feeling loose and reckless. Cocaine always gave me a big head and way too much confidence.

"Hi." I said into his ear as he tried to move closer to Brittany in order to get further away from me.

"Hi." He said curtly, determinately avoiding my eyes.

"What's your name?" I said sweetly, propping my chin up on his shoulder.

There was a moment's silence, and then he said "Blaine."

"Hello Blaine, you know, I give _awesome_ head, and you're so cute ill even do you for free." I said into his ear, biting his earlobe when I was done the same way Ethan had the day we first met.

Blaine's head spun around and he stared me right in the eyes. I could see, ever so faintly, my reflection in his large, honey eyes. I saw my drooping eyelids and stuck up hair. I looked as though I was ill, sick, dying. Blaine seemed to stare right through my eyes, and my foolish grin slid off my face. For the first time in weeks, I felt ashamed of myself.

Then the moment was gone, and Blaine was standing up to pronounce he was leaving. As he stormed out of the shed, he looked back at me for a moment, and I saw pity in his gaze.

O.o.O

Later that day Brittany and I were sitting together, and I was trying to avoid the smell of whiskey coming from her solo cup. People always found it strange that when it came to drugs I was willing to do anything, but I wouldn't even go near alcohol. The truth was that the smell made me want to vomit, and there were a few times I narrowly avoided doing so.

"Brittany..."

"Hmm?" she said, sipping from her cup with apparent relish. I suppressed a gag.

"That Blaine kid… how do you know him?"

Brittany's face lit up and she went straight into her story like I knew she would. "Oh! Blaine! He's so nice Kurt. There were some people in our P.E. class before school ended that were always being so mean to him and I always told them to stop. I was so sad because he always looked like he would cry, and they always called him a fairy but I wasn't quite sure why that was a bad thing because I think faeries are awesome and Blaine's awesome, but I used to always make him feel better. We hung out a lot too when I didn't come here with Santana, and I always have so much fun here I wanted to show him. I don't think he liked it though… Santana's not very nice to him. She says he's a looser, but he's so nice Kurt." She broke off, breathing rather heavily as she had said all that with very few breathes, and looked at me with a benign smile.

"Oh… well you should bring him around more. He's… he's cute." I blushed.

I had no idea what was going on in my head. I hadn't blushed in weeks, and these feelings I was having were just strange and alien to me. Blaine had seemed to look right into my soul, and it made me feel naked and vulnerable, far more vulnerable in fact than when I had stranger's cocks in my mouth. It was as though he knew. It was as though he knew what was inside me and part of me hated it, while another part of me wanted him to scream it to my face so I could maybe accept it myself. I wanted him to tell me why I did all the things I had, and why I was so thrilled that my life was one huge mess that I could go home and cry about for hours.

But I was being stupid. I had been high, and I was imagining things. Weed makes you think of everything on a completely new and deeper level, and that was all it was. Blaine had pitied me, and nothing else. For the second time in weeks, for the second time that day, I felt ashamed of myself.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N- okay so even I don't know what pill Kurt took in the second part of this chapter (because It's an experience I had) but I'm pretty sure from my own experiences it was some strange mixture of opiates and amphetamines. **

**Any questions on how Kurt or Blaine act in this chapter can probably be answered by the beginning quote :D (which is a big theme to this story)**

**(un-beta'd, I think my beta disappeared…)**

**I do not own glee, please review!**

"The anguish of the neurotic individual is the same as that of the saint. The neurotic, the saint are engaged in the same battle. Their blood flows from similar wounds. But the first one gasps and the other one gives." –Georges Bataille

As the summer wore on, I became especially inclined towards codeine. Ethan had gotten me a bottle of 50mg pills, and soon I found myself unable to go a day without them.

It wasn't that I couldn't put them down, but every time I would come down I would get sick, and I couldn't help thinking 'if I have them, why not use them?' If I took 3 pills the nausea went away and I was flying again, and unlike everything else I had done, codeine made me feel as though all my pain was really happiness so condensed that if felt like pain.

I took 3 pills in the morning, two when it started to wear off, and then three around 4 in the afternoon. This routine kept me in a constant state of flying, and prevented the horrible after effect I had come to fear so greatly.

I knew that at some point I would have to face detox, for I had seen those pictures of old men and women with their teeth blackened and their hair shriveled, and I refused to become that. I was young and I was beautiful, and to me that was the perfect excuse to hold off on that imminent death of everything I had become dependent on. I had decided somewhere in the back of my mind that I would be completely clean by the age of 28. Even though my planned sobriety was over ten years from the present, the thought of not having my high, of going through the horrible ache and illness of detox, frightened me beyond all else.

Ethan, Brittany and I had become a sort of business where he would get the drugs, Brittany or I would pay for the drugs with our bodies, and then we would all get high. Usually it was just blowjobs, but I had hesitantly let a few more guys fuck me. Usually it was for 20 dollars; sometimes if someone extremely dimwitted came it could be as much as 50. Sometimes the price was simply money, and other times it was drugs.

Sex was becoming more and more boring, and letting guys fuck me out back became less and less painful. The experiences certainly weren't as bad as what I had suffered through the first time, for I insistently refused to do it if I was on any sort of hallucinogen that wasn't weed.

The danger of it all sent thrills through my spine, and made me almost forget about the horror of my first time, and the fact that frightening man had not used a condom.

Usually I just forced myself not to think about it, but sometimes the memory would creep up on me when my mind was inactive, or unable to suppress the thoughts. Sometimes when I was high the reality of it sent me into such a state of panic I had to throw myself off of whatever I was sitting on to distract myself. Other times when men were thrusting into me the same way Bubha had done, I had to actually convince myself that I wasn't still in that terrifying memory. For such inexplicable reasons I was so incredibly proud of myself, but also so incredibly disgusted by myself. I loved to look back at the _idea_ of what had happened and cry my eyes out because I had an exact, physical thing I could be upset over, but whenever I thought about the actual event and how it had felt and made me think, I start to feel sick and ashamed.

Before I knew it most of the summer was gone, and those hazel eyes that had seemed to see into my soul were fading slowly and surely into blackness.

O.o.O

I was floating. Or at least I thought I was. Everything around me was blue, and my skin was soaked in warm water that smelled of strawberries and lavender. Something was ringing, and I tried to ignore it. I wanted to keep floating. I could see the bubbles and they were distant, but far too close.

I gasped, emerging from my daydream as if I were unconscious, my neck shooting up, my eyes searching desperately to figure out where I was.

I was in the shower. I was lying in the tub on my shower floor as the water pounded onto my stomach, water filling my ears making them ring a torturous monotone. I laid my head against the back of the tub again, trying to remember how I got where I was, but nothing came to me.

I had been at Ethan's. He had given me a brand new bottle of codeine because I earned him 50 bucks when I 'let' that bastard Bubha fuck me again, but I had forced him to wear a condom this time. I had decided to drive home relatively sober for safety, then when I had gotten home I remembered taking 3 pills… and then blackness.

I groaned, the noise sounding loud and echoed in the acoustics of my bathroom. Realizing with a look at my pruned hands that I had probably been in there for hours, I got up clumsily and tuned off the shower, not bothering to dry off, and walked into my room wet and naked.

I was thirsty. I was so thirsty I felt as though I hadn't drank in days, so I put on some old pajamas and made my way downstairs, realizing as I did so that there was no way those pills were codeine. My vision was spinning and my feet were slipping on the steps and perfectly non-slippery carpet. I kept bumping into walls, and then feeling myself fly as the blow propelled me across the hallway and into the kitchen.

I got a bowl and stumbled over to the sink to fill it with water, wondering why on earth someone would make a drinking glass shaped like this, and better yet why my father had bought it. Once the bowl was filled with water I began drinking from it desperately, the water falling down my shirt and onto the floor.

"Kurt… why are you drinking from a bowl?" grumbled my father, casually walking into the room.

The bowl fell from my hands and clattered to the ground, water splashing up from the floor and soaking the bottom of my pajama pants. I stared at my father, and against my greatest efforts, I began to sway dangerously.

My father was there in a second to hold me up and balancing me against the kitchen counter.

"Da- is not what he thing… is" I explained. This made perfect sense in my head, and I had no idea why my father was looking at me with large, confused eyes. Were my dad's eyes always that big?

"Kurt, are you drunk!" my dad exclaimed, sounding angry and confused.

"Ack-ho taste too bad, too much…" I began, trying to find the word I was looking for, not even recognizing my father's question as accusatory. "Ew!" I yelled triumphantly.

"Kurt you need to lie down" said Burt, apparently deciding a lecture would not be any bit helpful while I was in such a state, and compromising that for the moment he needed to take care of me; punishment would come when I sobered up.

Somehow I ended up in my bed, wrapped warmly in the covers, though I did not remember getting their in the slightest. The last thing I remembered before sinking back into blue was my father's hand reaching out for a small orange bottle on my bedside table.

When I woke up, then sun seemed to be setting from the single window casting a pinkish light through the thin drawn curtains. It took me a few minutes of mindless existence to realize that when I had gone to sleep, it had been night time. I must have slept almost 24 hours. My eyes felt heavy and sore, and my limbs felt stiff and lank. Even more minutes of simple, effortless existence passed by before my father walked into the room and saw that I was awake.

"Kurt, thank god! I didn't know one person could sleep so long. Look, now that you're awake and sober, we need to talk." Said Burt.

"Sober?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but feeling my stomach drop and my heart rate race.

"Yes Kurt, sober." Burt went into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small orange pill bottle Ethan had given me the previous day.

At the sight of it, my mind cleared instantly. I knew what to do, I just had to let instinct take over.

"Crap… crap! Puck!" I shouted, slamming my fists onto my mattress and looking angry and offended.

"What?" my dad asked, clearly taken aback.

"Puck! He gave me those pills to help with my legs. I've been going on jogs while you've been at work, you know, I think that's why I'm losing weight, but I've been getting cramps in my legs and he said it would help." I said convincingly, looking guilty. "I'm so sorry dad, I had no idea it was one of those types of pills, I just thought it was just some type of pain reliever!"

"Kurt…" my dad said skeptically.

"Dad, if I was doing drugs, do you think I would have just left the bottle lying on by bedside table in plain sight?" I said, narrowing my eyes at my father as if offended that he wasn't trusting me.

"Kurt, why in the world did you take pills from someone like Noah Puckerman!" my dad said exasperated, and I felt a thrill of triumph that he had bought the story.

"I know I was being stupid dad but you don't understand! People always hate me and I just thought…" I trailed off and crumpled up my face for effect.

My dad sat down on my bed and held me tight to his chest. I wished he wouldn't, I felt sick with myself.

"It's alright kiddo, you didn't know you were doing anything wrong. You just get some rest or… read or something okay?" my dad advised.

"Yah," I said, wiping my eyes bashfully "I'll do that."

O.o.O

Two days later I was storming into Ethan's shed, finding him, as ever, sucking from a large blue bong and looking smug.

"What the _fuck_ was in those pills!" I bellowed.

Ethan stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decide if I was real. "I don't know, man." He said dismissively.

"You don't know. You don't know! You said it was codeine, Ethan!"

"I did." He confirmed maddeningly.

I stared at him, trying to decide whether to hit him or smash his bong on the floor.

"I bet you didn't get sick though." He said smugly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I growled.

"You've been goin' at that codeine like mad. You should have been puking your brains out after 3 days without it, but you didn't."

"Are you saying this was your way of, what, helping me out of my addiction or something?" I said sarcastically, looking at him dangerously.

Ethan barked out a laugh. "No, I just think it's funny."

I stormed out, wondering why in the world I even bother with such arrogant people.

O.o.O

As angry as I was with Ethan, he was the only one with connections. He never let anyone else close enough to the dealers to make contacts because he enjoyed the power of being the head provider. Unless I wanted to go sober, I had no choice but to stick with Ethan and go back to the pattern we had made when summer started.

Ethan had gotten me a new bottle of codeine when I earned him another 50 bucks, cursing the world for how unfair it was. I was so angry I got absolutely nothing but trouble with my father by letting Bubha fuck me again, but I didn't dare say anything. I was able to go back to my old routine with the codeine, and everything was back to my sick, twisted version of normal.

It was late one Wednesday evening, my father working late as usual, when Brittany came in so drunk I doubted she knew where she was. She was brandishing a truly huge bottle of vodka and screaming out "it's time to party!"

This pronouncement might sound cool in movies and music, but it just looked comical and foolish in the dim light and quiet atmosphere of the shed. Brittany promptly began to fall sideways, narrowly being rescued by Santana who had eyes for no one but Brittany.

She stumbled towards me and shoved the bottle under my nose, the smell causing me to gag over it.

"Kuuurt!" wined Brittany."I even watered it down foyu Kurt's so good" she rested her head on my shoulder and began begging me to take some.

She really did not understand how the smell of alcohol affected me. Her breath was being lulled into my nostrils along with the fumes of the liquid emanating from the large bottle. I was starting to feel nauseous, a feeling not helped by the four codeine pills I had taken 30 minutes earlier.

"Brit, Brit stop stop st-" I suddenly felt myself starting to get sick, and shoved Brittany off of me so I could run out of the shed.

I had taken 2 strides outside however when I ran head first into a firm body and fell to the ground. My body could not take any more movement, and I sickeningly threw up right next to the stranger shoes.

I felt arms wrap around me and lead me further away from the shed, and my first thought was that it was Bubha or another one of Ethan's dealers come to use me again, and a feeling of dread spread through me as I dry heaved over the leafy ground. I felt hopeless, for I was too weak to throw the man off, and to sick to verbalize any sort of resistance.

But then I heard a soothing voice whispering "Shh, it's okay, shh." Into my ear, and I realized, perhaps foolishly, this person wasn't going to take advantage of me.

My stomach was going through spasms, but as I came down from being ill, those strong arms still held me together.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry so sorry." I repeated over and over again, the codeine and weed making my vision seem overly dimensional and my thoughts jumbled and confused.

"No, don't apologize, it's ok." The stranger said earnestly.

I looked up at him, and my mind was suddenly snapped into clarity. "Blaine." I proclaimed loudly.

Blaine looked shocked. "You remember my name?" he rasped.

"Yah of course…" I said, shaking my head to try and clear my once again foggy mind. "Blaine why… why did you help me?"

Blaine unwrapped his arms from my waist self consciously and said "sorry, I just-"

"No, no Blaine I'm happy you did, but why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" said Blaine, looking genuinely confused.

I stared at him, realizing as I did so that I was way too high. Blaine was starting to emit a faint green glow, and for half a second I wondered if he was god, then I realized what I was thinking and cursed Ethan for giving me laced weed_ again_.

"Fuck!" I said loudly. "Fucking Ethan!"

"What's your name?" said Blaine kindly.

"Kurt" I said distractedly, trying to ignore m hands which were definitely trying to speak to me.

"Do you want a ride home?"

"I have to take my car… my dad he-"

"Look you are in no state to drive; I can drive your car." Blaine held out his hands expectantly for my keys, but I was too busy marveling in how big his hand was. "Where are your keys?" Blaine said.

"Pocket… the this." I said, pointing to my left front pocket before almost falling onto my back, but Blaine caught me.

"Unless you want to by lying in your own throw up, you should come with me."

Once we were on our feet, Blaine's arm around my waist and my arm around his shoulder, we began making our way to my car. Halfway there however, I stopped dead in my tracks and stumbled away from him.

"No no no, I am so tired of this. I know what you're doing!" I pointed at him accusingly, my voice rising with each word. "You think you can just fuck me for nothing? No you have to talk to Ethan first _Blaine_ I'm not just some fuck toy!" my face was scrunched up now and my eyes were watering. It was taking all my efforts to stand, but still I kept my eyes on Blaine.

"No Kurt, no I'm not trying to… to do _that_ with you I promise I just want to get you home safe!"

"Oh and why would I trust _you_" I spat.

"Kurt please, let's just get you home okay?" Blaine begged.

I glared at him, trying to decide what to do. I trusted Blaine already more than I did anyone else around here, though that scared me because I had no reason to believe he wasn't just like the rest of them. On the other hand my dad would be home in a few hours, and there would be no way I could sober up in time to drive home, and it was absolutely ridiculous to ask someone like Ethan to drive me.

"Fine, but I swear to god Blaine-" I tried to finish my sentence, but then gagged as a second wave of nausea hit me.

Blaine rushed over to help me. "Okay come on, it's okay I promise."

Once we got to the car I handed him the keys, glaring pointedly at him.

while we were driving away and I was giving him directions to my house, I groaned "I need my pills."

"What?" said Blaine incredulously.

"Blaine if I don't take my pills I'm going to be sick, I need them. Please hurry."

"Kurt, are you crazy? You can't even walk on your own; I hardly think you should be taking _more _drugs!"

"You just don't get it!" I wined, irrationally upset.

Blaine insisted on helping me up to my room after I yelled at him for a good 5 minutes saying "I know what you're doing _Blaine_, I'm not stupid!" In the end though, Blaine won and we were stumbling into my bedroom. I fell onto my bed with a feeling of disappointment in my chest. I realized I didn't want Blaine to go, despite my previous accusations.

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the bed with me and crawled my way on top of him, hardly noticing his squirming resistance. I barely heard the words and noises coming out of Blaine's mouth as I began kissing up his neck, noticing how his breath hitched and how he began panting slightly. "Blaine… Blaine… I take back what I said… you can fuck me I promise…" I kissed him deeply, scratching down his shirt and over his nipples.

Blaine sat up sharply and pushed me off of him looking conflicted and hurt. "Kurt please I…I-"

"Are you like straight or something?" I snapped, recovering from being shoved unceremoniously off of Blaine.

Blaine blushed deeply and said "Kurt…"

"Well are you?"

"Kurt please I've… I've never, I've never told anyone please…"

"Oh my god you're in the closet" I said gaping at him. My head was still fuzzy, but the seriousness of the situation was making it oddly clear.

"Kurt you… that was my first kiss." Said Blaine, blushing deeply, teary eyes focused determinately at his hands.

I stared at him for a second, taking in his slumped shoulders, the tears in his sad eyes, and the way he seemed to be caving in on himself. For the first time in years, I felt like caring for someone other than myself, and I felt ashamed and guilty for stealing from Blaine what Ethan had stole from me. As much as happy and proud as I had been when Ethan had done that, now I hated the fact that I had put someone else through it. I wrapped my arm around Blaine and said "Blaine, oh Blaine I'm so sorry I didn't know."

"Why would you just kiss someone without knowing something like that!" said Blaine, anger prominent in his voice.

"Blaine, you don't understand, it's just…" what was I suppose to say? It's just that people are always kissing me without knowing anything about me? It's just that fucking has become just another thing to do to get what I want? It's just that I've forgotten what normal is and I can hardly be expected to act like I remember? Blaine wiped his eyes and I said "Blaine I'm so sorry, but if it makes you feel any better my first kiss was much worse." I said, smiling lightly.

Blaine chuckled weakly and said "what was it like then?"

I felt like I shouldn't tell him, like it was my business and no one else's, but Blaine had just done me a gigantic favor and he had been the one to help me while I was sick like no one else had done. Half of me wanted it to be my own little shameful secret, but the other half of me wanted to let it off of my chest so that I could somehow move on from that small, shameful memory.

"I…" I said, not quite sure how to begin. "Well I wanted to you know, get…get high…" Blaine looked at me, and I bowed my head in shame. "And well, Ethan wanted a blowjob so I… so I did and he kissed me. It was gross, but I got what I wanted. You know?"

I looked up, hoping Blaine would say something along the lines of 'yes that is completely understandable', but instead he just stared at me, and then stood up abruptly. "I should go." He said.

Panicking, I reached out to grab him with my left arm and he looked down at it to my sleeve that had accidentally ruffled up to display many thick red scars that lined my arm. I pulled my arm back, feeling an increasing sense of déjà vu. Blaine was staring at my arm cradled against my chest, just like the night with Mercedes and Rachel. I was waiting for him to walk out disgusted, but he did not. He just stared at my arm, and said quietly "Kurt…"

"Please stay." I whispered, closing my eyes and just wishing Blaine would forget what he saw, but at the same time wanting him to shout me down and tell me all the reasons I did it, as if he knew. I wanted him to kiss each scar so I knew that I wasn't only one who thought them beautiful. I wanted him to tell me that I was not disgusting and unworthy of happiness because of these marks I was so proud of yet so disgusted by.

"Kurt… I don't know why you want me too. We are two so completely different people! You like drugs and sex and I like music and books, where on earth could this friendship go?"

I looked up at him, thankful and also disappointed to see he was looking in my face now. "I use to be just like you. I've always been broken, but I never used to act like it."

Blaine just stared at me for a moment, and then said "everyone's broken, Kurt. That doesn't mean you have to willingly break yourself even more."

"Look Blaine, you don't know the reasons why I do what I do, but in this moment right now, for the first time in my entire life I feel like sharing my emotions with someone, and if that's too much than okay, but I want you to stay and I want to get to know you because I see my old self in you and I feel, god this is embarrassing to say, but part of me feels like you see a bit of yourself in me. I know I'm probably wrong, but that's what I feel and I just want… I just want someone to be here. Just to sit next to me so I'm not so damn alone all the time."

I hadn't realized I was crying until Blaine leaned over and wiped a tear from my eye and said "okay." He stared at me for a moment as I kept my eyes on my hands, and then added "and you do remind me of myself by the way. I mean… I've never done drugs or had sex… or even kissed anyone until a few minutes ago but I see things behind your eyes that look so familiar."

I didn't know what to say. In that moment a wave of emotions hit me that were a mixture of resentment and happiness. I wanted to push Blaine away because I didn't want to be pitied, and I was perfectly capable of surviving alone. I also wanted to pull him closer because I was just so, so alone and all I wanted was for him to know every part of me and somehow mend the pieces back together. I wanted him to tell me I was ridiculous for clinging to someone I had only properly met hours ago, but I also wanted to tell him he was the first person who wasn't my father to take care of me as if I were an actual human being.

The scariest part was that, though this moment was peaceful because I was high and Blaine was lightly tracing my scars through the fabric of my shirt as though they were normal and okay, when morning came nothing would be different. Blaine would want me to be sober, and that was something I could not do. He would want to know what I did during the day, and I wouldn't be able to answer him because the truth would only tear apart our pretty picture were broken people could be put back together by the mere thought of friendship and love. Our thoughts would be torn apart because the naïve idea that exterior changes like new friends and new lives could change the fact that inner battles and loneliness still linger on.

We were just two strangers who saw ourselves in each other's eyes. We were both young and scared and desperate for something to cling onto, yet neither of us knew how to get what we wanted. We had no choice but to keep walking down the roads that had led us to where we were in that moment, and hope that this fork in the road would only be our lives coming together to walk down a new, brighter path.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N- Please keep in mind this is a 95% true story, just that in real life Blaine was a girl and Kurt was a girl (me), but everything else is pretty much real things. I just don't want people to think any of this stuff is unrealistic. **

**okay so anyone why had been to my tumblr (heathersyvilla dot tumblr dot com) should know I am a diehard dead head hippie, and the fact that I am using lyrics from a song that is relatively recent is making me grit my teeth, but this song did mean a lot to me back when I was going through this stuff and the lyrics certainly fit, but don't get used to it. Most quotes that are lyrics now on will be from pink Floyd and the grateful dead… maybe some Jefferson airplane. Stuff like that :)**

**Okay so for those who read my way too long authors notes, this story had been very hard for me to write, it is bringing back a whole bunch of dormant emotions and I'm just having a hard time. If there is anyone willing to talk to me about the story, so I don't have to go at it alone, (my beta dropped off the face of the earth) then please message me on here or on tumblr :) it would mean the world to have someone to write this with. **

**I do not own glee, please review!**

And there's nothing wrong with me, this is how I'm supposed to be, in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me. –Green Day, Jesus of Suburbia.

Nothing changed, and once Blaine left my presence that night, I didn't want it to. I had to be honest with myself, and honesty meant admitting that in the end it would be Blaine and all his strings, or drugs.

As I lay in the dark, watching the shadows behind my eyes, I think of the way the green, crumpled leaves burned and shriveled into ash, the way the crystals pop and the red strings light like the string of dynamite. I remember that wonderful moment were your staring out into space and everything seems so much bigger, physically and philosophically, but then you realize your just high, but it's ok because all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride. I think of how such a simple white powder can brings me to the top of the world where I can't feel my face, but I can feel the vibrations of the universe.

I feel a cold tear fall down my cheek and into my hair as I remember how the swirls behind my eyes had comforted me after Bubha had left me curled up and sobbing. I had felt useless in that moment. I was aching and my eyes felt as though they were bleeding, but the swirls had told me that pain was only happiness so condensed that it hurt, and that tears only eased the pressure to make it better. And I had felt better, I had felt happy. Even though I had taken away my entire world and disappointed every dream I had for myself, I was ecstatic because the swirls told me I could be.

When I was little I was afraid of the dark. I never knew why such a simple thing could cause such insanity inside my head, but the darkness seemed to hold monsters that would hurt me if I didn't reach the safety of my bed in time. Back then monsters were external beings with defined forms, there were zombies and mummies, the boogie man and those serial killers I saw on television. I feared them as though they were the worst thing that could ever walk the planet, as if fear itself was the worst torture. A broken bone or a scratch was what I thought of when I thought of pain, and of course that seemed to be all a monster could do to me. Cause me physical pain.

This dilution had been wiped clean from my mind as if it had never been the day my mother had died. That pain had seemed to occupy ever single fiber of my being, and yet the extreme lack of physical injury was confusing and terrifying for me. How could I feel so much pain without a defined physical source for it? I was too young to understand that the loss of a mother was physical enough, but I wanted to see a broken bone or torn skin, I wanted something to show me what was wrong, how much damage there was, and what exactly I could do to make it better. I wanted a doctor to tell me all I needed was stitches or a cast, but the idea that a pain as deep as this could only be helped by my own thoughts and emotions terrified me to no end. I knew nothing of curing pain with thoughts. I thought maybe I should pray, but the day my mother had died was the day I lost faith in any form of a god.

That day had also been the day I realized that monsters do not hide under the bed and in the dark, they hid inside your mind, lurking in the crevices of every unused corner, waiting for you to be weakened so they can come out and tear apart everything that held you together. Monsters live inside me and I was so quick to let them take over my life that I didn't stop to think why I would want them to do that in the first place. I had let dilution and fear overpower me to the point where I was completely reckless and self destructive. There was no way someone could want me, because there was no way I could deserve someone. I was a monster.

I had kissed Blaine, and somewhere inside my deluded mind I had felt him kiss back, but why would I allow myself such a comfort? Blaine was pure and innocent, while I was wasted and torn apart by my own hands. I sold sex for money, and what good person would think of me as anything better than dirt. Inside my head I could defend myself, I could say 'it's my body, I can do what I want with it!' but that was all in my head. I could scream it from my rooftop for the world to hear, but no one would listen.

The nasty truth of it was that even if they did listen, it wouldn't matter. Any change would be that I was be a druggie without a secret, and I wanted my secrets. I loved my secrets. I had known Blaine for less than 12 hours, and yet he was the one person in the world to see some of my darkest secrets and still see me as a human being. I didn't deserve that, and I didn't deserve him.

O.o.O

Blaine called for the third time that day, but I just sat by my window and blew out a long, thick stream of grey smoke.

It had been 3 days since Blaine had driven me home, and Blaine was still calling and I was still trying to ignore him. I thought I could just simply turn my phone off, but that idea was simply ridiculous. The truth was that my heart fluttered inside my chest every single time I heard my phone buzz. Blaine hadn't forgotten me. I wasted no time in plugging in my phone every single time it got to less than 3 bars.

I hadn't gone back to Ethan's. I was surviving on my 5 gram stash of weed and almost full bottle of codeine, and I was getting by all right. I had no idea what I would do when school started in a week, but I didn't want to think about it. I would be a sophomore, and the thought made me sick. I wanted to be a senior, that way I wouldn't be looked at like I was some naïve child all the time. I knew they were right to look at me like that, but again, I didn't like to think about it.

I look at long, strong drag from the joint I had rolled and felt myself cough and gag, but my body and my mind seemed to be completely separate beings. I could hardly feel myself choking. My phone buzzed again, and somewhere in my completely gone mind I thought answering the phone would be the same thing as not answering the phone. It made perfect sense to me, so I did it.

"Huh?" I grunted, coughing weakly with what air I had left in my lungs.

"Kurt? Kurt oh my god I can't believe you answered. Why haven't you been answering my calls?"

"Blaine?" I said, not actually hearing anything Blaine had said.

"Yes, Kurt… why haven't you been answering my calls?"

"Answering your calls… wait…"I coughed a few more time then rasped "I don't get it."

"Kurt you're high." Blaine said, sounding extremely disappointed.

"Look _Ethan_, you can tell Bubha he can fuck _you_ behind the shed because twice is quite enough for me. That guy isn't worth shit so you two would be perfect together. I'm not fucking doing it Ethan, _I'm not._" I said furiously, preparing to hang up on this _asshole_ when Blaine screamed into the phone.

"I'm not Ethan Kurt! I'm Blaine and I'm making sure you're okay!"

I was extremely confused, not at all helped by the fact that I had ended up on the floor, joint safely in hand, without having one clue on how I got there. "Blaine?"

"Kurt, can I come over?"

"I just want to know got floor how Blaine." I slurred pleadingly.

"I'm coming over." Said Blaine, hanging up immediately.

The phone dropped from my hand when I realized how incredibly heavy it was, and then I began taking miniscule puffs from my joint and giggling at the ceiling. My limbs felt tied tightly to their current positions, and the idea of moving them was just as easy to contemplate as gouging out my own eye.

It felt like an hour, but on the other hand it felt like two seconds, but before I knew it Blaine was by my side, wiping the hair from my face and straightening out my clothes. He was talking, or perhaps he was screaming, but my ears seemed to be occupying some channel of consciousness I was not currently tuned into. I was just existing, audience to the shapes and colors that were dancing in front of my eyes as Blaine did things I was too far gone to understand.

I could have fallen asleep, or maybe just nodded off, but one second I was on the floor without a thought in the world and the next I was lying in my bed supremely aware of the hot hand clamped onto my own.

"Kurt?" said an anxious voice.

I became aware that I wasn't wearing a shirt, since I rarely did when I was home alone, but something I always did when anyone was in the house to cover my scar-covered arm. I rushed to cover it with the comforter, but Blaine stopped me with gentle hands.

"It's okay Kurt; you don't have to hide them from me."

I blinked over at him, and then noticed the feeling of nausea building up inside me. My right arm swung over to my bedside table to pull out the drawer and scramble around for my orange pill bottle. When I had gotten it out and started scrambling around with the lid, I felt Blaine's hand clasp over my entwined ones.

"Kurt, you cannot seriously be considering taking more drugs!"

"Blaine," I started calmly. "If I don't take them I will become so sick that it will feel like bugs are crawling around inside me and eating my flesh. Do you want that?"

"How will _not_ taking drugs make you sick?" he said skeptically.

I glared at him. "Haven't you ever heard of detox Blaine?"

Obviously trying to cover up his ignorance, Blaine changed the subject at top speed. "Can't you just wait a little longer Kurt?"

"If I'm going to do it later, I might as well do it now." I said as I succeeded in popping open the lid and throwing three pills into my mouth before Blaine could protest anymore. I sat up, feeling my entire body begin to spin and vibrate, and then I had fallen onto Blaine's lap without noticing I had done so. He held me willingly, but he looked sad and lost. "Blaine, you can take a few. I want you to; I want to see you smile."

I had expected him to refuse pompously, perhaps even leave as he had done the very first time we had met, but instead he stared at the bottle longingly and said quietly "what does it feel like?"

I adjusted myself in Blaine's lap so I was straddling his legs, and whispered into his ear "it makes all the pain in your life a beautiful landscape, and it makes all your happiness turn into wings so you can fly and observe your world like an angel."

Blaine shuddered, still staring at the bottle with so many unreadable emotions.

"I can't, Kurt. Not… not today."

I sighed dramatically, thinking I'd get Blaine high someday, and reveling in the feeling of being on top of him. It was comfortable, and I didn't have that overwhelming anxious feeling in my chest like I did whenever I was around other people and wasn't buzzed up on coke. I slowly pushed Blaine back onto the bed so he was lying down and I rolled over so I was flush against his side, my head lying on Blaine's chest. I could hear Blaine's heart beating at a murderous speed and his breath quicken, but he showed no sign of resistance.

I started to feel myself sink into my high, letting the waves of dilution and depths immerse my body once more. In that moment, Blaine felt majestic, as if he were so crucial to the universe that if he so much as left the room, all balance in time and space would crumble like the ash on a burning cigarette.

O.o.O

I often hear people throw the word 'whore' around casually, as if no one in _their_ presence could every actually be such a thing, so there was no use using caution. The same goes for the words 'fag', 'queer', and 'gay', as if such things were unlikely to be around so there was no use caring for others feelings. The word 'whore' was always stuck in my mind more than the others though, because that word seemed to be the height of all insults to throw at a girl, as if it were the worst thing a human being could be. It's almost always associated with women, yet very rarely men. The word is more often thrown towards promiscuous women rather than women who actually sell their bodies, and almost never thrown at men, even if they do sell their bodies. Usually a man's iron clad excuse for having a lot of sex is the simple fact that he is a man, but what if a man actually does sell his body? What if a _boy_ sells his body? Is he a whore?

I certainly though I was a whore and a large part of me was proud of it. I liked having a title, "Kurt Hummel, the whore." I liked having names to throw at myself. I enjoyed hating myself. However, I often felt a twinge of defiance and shame whenever I heard the word thrown away casually, and I couldn't help thinking, 'if only they knew…"

Of course no one knew except the people who walked in and out of that dingy old shed, and of course, Blaine.

Blaine and I hung out every day for the week leading up to the first day of school. I would head over to Ethan's in the morning and do what I needed to do and buy whatever drugs I was running low on, then I would rush home in time to meet Blaine who would drive to my house at 12 each day. Since Blaine had his license, I sometimes had to physically restrain myself from begging him to give me rides to Ethan, but something inside of me knew that I would be taking advantage of Blaine if I did, and I didn't want to do that.

It seemed such an unlikely friendship, the nerdy, dapper schoolboy and the drug addicted gay whore. I never voiced it out loud, not wanting to jinx it, and flinching at just the thought of what Blaine would say if he knew what I called myself inside my head. Most of the time it seemed Blaine was just putting up with me, because I refused to tame myself down in his presence.

But every now and then Blaine and I would have moments that would both thrill us and scare us completely. Sometimes we would find ourselves laughing together and staring into each other's eyes, and in those moments I was no longer Kurt Hummel the drug addicted whore, but Kurt Hummel the scared, innocent boy who just wanted a friend. That strange veil that separated me from the rest of the world and trapped me inside my own mind seemed to expand, wrapping both Blaine and I in a bubble, separate from the world yet linked together tightly. I would see Blaine's eyes change too, but I could never place what it was. I wanted to know the mysteries behind those eyes, and I wanted to see the monsters that lurked in Blaine's mind and see if they were anything like the ones that had taken over mine. Those moments were so intimate and so special that usually we would spend a whole hour caught up in them in silent relaxation, for words were too mundane to capture this strange sensation that existed between us.

Sometimes we would take walks outside, going nowhere in particular but always pretending otherwise in the fear that the other would get freaked out. These walks were another one of those special moments because it always seemed so comfortable, as if we had known each other for years, not days.

Blaine had even said during one long walk "I think it's really awesome that we can just walk together in silence. You know, were close enough that we don't feel the need to talk to each other in order to be together."

And it was true, although we had only been friends for a few days, Blaine had already seen parts of myself I had been hiding even from my own mind, and it was both terrifying and thrilling. I had also seen parts of Blaine that would have seemed so mundane to the outside world, but which Blaine tried to hide, and that he was apparently ashamed of. Things like the way he laughed loudly with a large goofy grin whenever he couldn't help loosing himself, or the way he talked with an innocent lisp every time he felt shy of bashful. Sometimes he would say powerful things that showed strong emotion, and then immediately be ashamed of them. He would say cheesy things but they always seemed so… Blaine. I wished he wouldn't suppress them because they were so beautiful that sometimes, I even wished I could know what they would sound like if I were sober.

I believe that if it weren't for those moments, our friendship would not have lasted longer than a few days, for without those moments; Blaine would have never known that I was never what I seemed to be on the outside.

Blaine was smarter than he liked to tell people. He noticed things other people didn't, just like me. He heard the way I talked about Ethan and he had heard enough to gather that sex for money and drugs was a more than casual occurrence. Sometimes Blaine would ask me why I did it, but my answer was always the same.

"Free drugs, Blaine. Free!" I would say.

"How is that free?" he would always ask incredulously.

I never understood what he meant.

My sophomore year had started and I of course had spent the very first day floating from class to class, completely oblivious to all around me, yet I did notice puck looking at me as though I had gone mad. I thought how silly it was that this surprised him, of course I was mad.

I had been startled, but a little too high to react when Blaine informed me during lunch the first day of school that he was a junior.

"You're older than me?" I said, trying to decide whether Blaine's ears were usually so tiny, while still trying to concentrate on what Blaine was saying.

"Yah, look Kurt I really don't think you should come to school… you know. A teacher might see you and you can get into real trouble."

"M'fine." I said, taking a sip of milk and immediately deciding it was the most delicious thing to ever graze my lips, but then I remembered the taste of Blaine…

"Kurt, please stop staring at my lips." Blaine said blushing, and I looked down at my plate, actually blushing in turn. "Look, this girl I know, Samantha, is throwing a back to school party and I told her I'd go. Would you come with me?"

I looked up at him, smiling widely and feeling my mind clear slightly. "Like a date?"

"Uhm actually… Kurt look please don't get angry but…" Blaine took a deep breath and looked me in the face with large, sad eyes. "Samantha is going to be my date. I just wanted you to come."

"Samantha… as in a girl." I said, trying to process the information.

"Yes. She likes me and I like… I like her too. She's nice and pretty and I know I said that I was… you know, but I just can't be Kurt. It would tear apart my life and dating Samantha would be easy. It's good for me."

I wanted to say 'I can be your life' but then I realized I'm already as torn apart as Blaine thinks being gay would do to his life. I wanted to tell Blaine he was being stupid, that he should be with me because we were perfect for each other, but then I realized someone as kind and gentle as Blaine would never deserve a whore.

"Blaine," I said, horrified to hear my voice high and cracked "please you can't… you can't date a girl. I…" I stood up suddenly and said "I've got to go."

Although lunch was barely halfway over, my tray was gone and so was I in seconds, and I was off to take a few puffs off my joint before next period to try and erase the horrible void of loneliness that was tearing open my chest, as it hadn't don't since the day Blaine had come over to take care of me.

O.o.O

Once I had gotten sober, or at least as sober as one could be after 3 codeines and only the afterglow of weed in effect, I called Blaine and had to fight him down from the steady stream of apologies wafting in from the telephone.

"Blaine, Blaine, Blaine! It's alright okay? Are you… ugh are you still planning on going with that girl?"

"Kurt I'm so sorry I have to and I just wish it would be okay but it can't and I'm sorry!" babbled Blaine, making absolutely no sense to me.

"Look. I'll go with you okay? I'll… I'll come and I'll even make sure I'm relatively sober."

I had no idea why that had come out of my mouth. Blaine would still have wanted me to come even if I were on 3 lines of coke and a rock or two of crack, so there was no use in me saying I would be relatively sober. The only possible good to come out of it was that Blaine would be happy, and although the idea of Blaine being happy while I sat on the sidelines sober and depressed was a terrifying one, it was also so much better than Blaine being unhappy. I had just given up being high, or at least being _very_ high, in order to protect Blaine's happiness. I had no idea what was going on. Despite the fact that he did not want me and despite the fact he wanted to date a _girl_ more than he wanted to date me, I was still willing to give up something that made me happy in order to make Blaine feel good.

There was a long silence on the other end, and then a feeble voice said "You would do that for me?"

"Of course I would. I mean you know I can't go off the codeine but I can go off the rest for one night, and Ethan can go fuck himself if he thinks id give up a night with you to let him treat me like property. When's the party?"

So the party was set for Friday night and Blaine would be picking me up at 6 and he would meet up with 'Sammy' at her house. Apparently there would be alcohol, and Blaine was worried that I would abandon myself, but I merely laughed and told him he had nothing to worry about, except maybe finding me throwing up due to the rancid fumes.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you." Said Blaine, and I nearly fell off my bed. What in the_ world_ was Blaine talking about?

"Did you steel some of my codeine?" I asked seriously, completely unable to find another explanation for such a strange statement.

Blaine only laughed and said "No Kurt, I'm serious. I know there's a wonderful person beneath all this… stuff you've buried yourself in. why else would you give up a night of drugs to accompany me to some lame party, so incredibly tame by your standards, probably."

I had absolutely no idea what to say, so I just babbled the first thing to come to my mind. "I've never been to a party, so doubt I could actually have standards."

O.o.O

I had to admit that Blaine was right; this party was lame and ridiculous. By 'party' this 'Sammy' girl must have meant 7 or 8 people sitting in an expensive living room watching Tim Burton movies until the late hour of 10 o'clock. Sometimes I really did forget how different I was from people my age.

By alcohol, 'Sammy' meant a few six packs of beer. I spent the entire night rolling my eyes in an armchair in the corner and trying to ignore the strange looks I was getting from everyone in the room except Blaine.

Blaine was snuggled up with 'Sammy' on the couch, looking supremely uncomfortable but obviously trying to hide it. Half way through the last film of the night, the two began kissing, Sammy giggling squeakily all the while. I tried my hardest not to begin throwing things, reminding myself over and over again that tonight was for Blaine, not for me. I was going to be happy for him and I was not going to complain. I was so happy that 10 o'clock came that I was out of my seat and by the door waiting for Blaine impatiently the second my phone said 10:00, thankfully out of sight of any good bye kissed from Sammy.

In my opinion, it had been the longest, most boring night of my entire life, and it was obvious Blaine thought so as well. He had rushed to the car and sped out of the driveway, saying 'oh my god' on repeat as he did so.

"So you like this Sammy girl?" I said irritably.

"Kurt, please." Said Blaine, eyes fixed determinately on the road.

"Blaine tonight was pathetic and I know you agree."

"Look Kurt, it's my parents who set me up with her okay? I have to be with her okay I just… damn it!" he slammed on the breaks, almost running a red light. "Sorry."

I looked over at him, seeing the sadness in his eyes and the apparent shame and guilt for the night's events, and my heart softened. I hated sing that look on Blaine's face.

"Hey, no it's okay Blaine don't worry about it. Let's just get home… you can stay at my house if you like? Tell your parents Sammy's holing a sleepover or something; I'm sure they'd like that."

Blaine looked over at me as though he couldn't believe his ears.

"What?"

"Nothing… its fine. Are you sure I can stay over?" Blaine said quickly.

"Of course, but what was that face for?"

Blaine laughed humorously. "Fine, fine I just though… after tonight I just thought you probably wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore."Blaine blushed, his eyes fixed back on the road now that the light had gone green again.

"_Me?_ Not want to be friends with _you?_ I swear Blaine every time words come out of your mouth I have to take a second to make sure I'm not just hearing things."

O.o.O

That night as Blaine and I sat on my bed, Blaine insisting we work on some of my homework I had yet to do from the previous week, I couldn't help staring at the different lines of Blaine's face. I thought it was beautiful how his eyelashes rested on his cheekbones whenever he closed his eyes, and how his lips looked, slightly open whenever he tried to concentrate. Though we had initially tried to do homework, the only thing we managed to do was talk about anything and everything.

"-and he's always trying to sell me laced weed and I keep thinking, why? I mean aren't dealers suppose to give you crappy weed when they know you'll take it anyway, not give you laced shit all the time? I thought they were supposed to keep it for themselves, but whatever. You know to be honest I think Ethan used to be a lot like me."

"How do you mean?" asked Blaine, genuine curiosity on his face.

"Well sometimes the way he looks at me… it's as if he's waiting for me to do something. As if he knows what I'm going through and he's waiting for me to do what he did. I think that's why he's always so pissed at me, because I'm not giving up. I think that's what he did."

"What do you mean give up?"

"You know like… run away. Get clean… become a respectable part of the community. Personally I think he was just as much a whore as I am now when he was younger."

"Don't call yourself that!" said Blaine, flaring up at once.

"Blaine, there really is no denying it at this point, don't you think? I gave 2 blowjobs this morning, and that's just today."

"Why are you trying to prove it? Shouldn't you be trying to prove you're _not_? Kurt you're a sophomore in high school… you-"

But I cut him off. "Blaine, seriously if you're going to make fun of me than…" I wasn't quite sure what to say, the last thing I wanted was for Blaine to leave, but Blaine was the first person I had spoken too as if I were by myself, without my walls, and I was not about to let him criticize me for it.

"Sorry…" said Blaine feebly. An awkward silence stretched between us for a few minutes, and then Blaine said "why did you do it? Cutting, I mean." He added at my raised eyebrow. "You don't do it anymore… I don't think."

"It lost its edge." I said with my eyes downcast. "It made things easier to think about. Like organizing my mind a little bit. Instead of always remembering everything that hurt me, I could just look at a scar and it would be like everything compact together. It was calming I suppose… and it made me smile. I know that sounds pathetic but it did."

"What changed?" Blaine's voice was soft, and he was staring at my left arm with an unreadable expression.

"I have no idea. It just stopped working. That's when I met… well that's when I met Ethan and his friends, anyway."

"Kurt…" Blaine whispered, obviously conflicted. "I just… well there's something I want to tell you but I've never told anyone and-"

"That you're gay?" I laughed humorously, still bitter because of Blaine's "I'm dating a girl' crap.

"no." he stated hoarsely. "For a few years now I've been… look I'm not proud of it but ever since I saw your arm I've just been having a lot of confusing feelings and I just want to tell someone so bad and- " He took a deep breath and looked me in the eyes, but then seemed unable to do it so he looked back down at his hands again. "I've been doing what you did. You know…"

"Cutting?" I guessed, my heart rate rising slightly. I never really considered the possibility that someone other than me would ever… it never even crossed my mind. And Blaine cutting? That was a simply abstract concept, but of course Blaine never ceased to surprise me. The longing looks at my codeine bottle, the frantic attempt to convince himself he's straight, now this…

Blaine nodded, and I saw a tear fall from his eyelashes and onto his hands.

I reached over and put my hands on his. He looked up into my eyes, and there was an intimacy between us that sent a shiver down my spine. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm ashamed Kurt! You wear your pain so proudly on your sleeve but I just can't. I'm ashamed that I'm… you know, it's why I went out with that _girl_ tonight, and I'm ashamed that I hurt myself because what would people think of me?" Blaine was crying openly now, and all I could do was pull him towards me so he was sobbing into my side. "My dad s-saw them once and he slapped m-me across the face and told me if I ever did it again he would send me to b-boarding school! I tried to stop but what he said only made it worse and I just can't… I don't want to become like…" Blaine stopped, crying to my shoulder, and I comforted him.

I knew what Blaine had wanted to say. 'I don't want to become like you.' The unsaid words stung, but I knew that they were only the innocent truth. I cared about Blaine, so although his thoughts hurt me, although his actions tonight had hurt me, I rubbed his arms and whispered "it's okay" into Blaine's ear over and over again until we ended up lying down, drowsing off into a deep sleep. As we lay their intertwined, Blaine's breathe hot against my side, I thought about Blaine. I thought about what could ever make him think that hurting himself would be a good idea, and I hurt inside thinking that someone as innocent and good as Blaine would ever cause themselves pain.

**A/N- okay yes I know my author's notes are embarrassingly long, but I just have a question for people reading my story. Blaine's parallel in my life had an extremely difficult and distinct mental disorder, I'm not going to say what until I put it into the story or if I don't put it into the story, if anyone asks. But my question is, would you guys like me to add it to Blaine's character in this story, or do you think it would be too much?**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N- I'm super sorry this is so short, but I promise all the other chapters will be at least 6,000 words. (That's my goal for each chapter) **

**So I've started going to narcotics anonymous meetings, and this story and all my lovely reviewers are the reason why. So I want to thank all of you guys reading my story because it really is helping me to move on. I love you all so much, and the NA meetings are just wonderful.**

**Blaine's parallel from my life had what is confessed in this chapter as well, so most accounts I write come from real experiences as usual. **

**My tumblr is heathersyvilla dot tumblr dot com for anyone who is interested; I am also an artist so anyone interested in seeing it can go to the portfolio page of my tumblr. **

**I do not own glee, please review!**

"And if the dam breaks open many years too soon, and if there is no room upon the hill, and if your head explodes with dark forebodings too, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon." –Brain Damage, Pink Floyd.

Days passed, and as they did I noticed that Blaine was not always all there. It wasn't in the way that I was never all there, always too high to tell the difference between black and white, quiet or loud. No, Blaine's eyes seemed to go in and out of focus, as if his brain was occasionally tuning into things neither I, nor anyone other than Blaine could see. Sometimes he would look at me mid-sentence as if he had just realized I was there, and then he would just stare at me for a moment before shaking his head. Other times he would roll his eyes out of nowhere, as if someone had said something stupid or annoying.

I didn't mind, to be honest i was too surprised that I had been clear headed enough to notice it at all. I knew that there was some secret Blaine was keeping from me, but I had so many secrets that I hardly blamed him.

My dad was still ignorant of everything, and sometimes I wondered if he guessed, but was so unwilling to admit the truth that he pretended he didn't see anything. I wanted to introduce him to Blaine, because Blaine might fill in some holes in any suspicions my father might have, and I'm sure he would love Blaine's obviously kind-heart.

Blaine and I continued to be together as often as possible, always during those hours my father was at work, but occasionally I would blow him off to go to Ethan's and do what I needed to do. I did feel bad, because I was almost certain Blaine didn't have many friends, and none he actually hung out with other than me. He reminded me of myself in that aspect, and although most would be inclined to judge him for his lack of a social life, this fact made me care for him even more. There was so much about him that everyone else disregarded that, for me, made each day worth living.

I remembered what it felt like to have no one, and I realized how much I must mean to Blaine. It was apparent in the way that he looked at me and the way he reacted when he saw what I was doing to myself. I felt as though all I would ever be was a corpse, Blaine hovering over me, hands pounding over my heart, trying to reawaken a long lost soul.

Every time I saw him it felt like it would be the last, as if every time he turned a corner I would find myself nodding off on a semen soiled mattress, my comforting swirls fading into blue too quickly for me to even say goodbye.

I just needed to get high and it would all be okay. Everything would be okay because when I was high time was just a concept, not a force that continued to stab into my chest over and over again like I had done everything in the world to deserve it.

O.o.O

About 2 weeks into the school year I got the courage to ask Blaine about the things that had been wandering my brain in all hours of day and night.

After Blaine's confession, my head had buzzed constantly with the thought of Blaine huddled on his bedroom floor, razor (knife?) held to his… wrist? Arm? Leg? The picture haunted my brain, and sometimes I could swear the swirls acted out the scene before my very eyes.

Blaine was hiding something from me, and I wanted to know so badly. I wanted to know everything about him, and the questions echoed in my brain, seeming loud and vast when thought of while flying too high to see the ground.

We were sitting on my bed after school when I said "Blaine… where did you, do you, uhm cut?"

Blaine looked up at me from his homework looking started, and slightly afraid.

It had been another one of those days where Blaine had been talking, abruptly stopped, and then looked at me for a moment as if he wasn't quite sure I was actually there. He had reached out and tentatively touched my knee, and then shook his head and asked what we were talking about. That had been about five minutes ago, so I was hoping Blaine had forgotten the awkward moment.

"You don't have to tell me! I just like having something in common with you I guess and…" I trailed off.

Blaine hesitated. "…my legs." He put his hand over his outer, upper thigh, looking vulnerable and slightly confused.

"Do you still do it?" I pressed, now that I had gotten the green light.

"I have to." Blaine said curtly, looking back down at his homework looking terrified, and to my surprise he cringed quite suddenly, and then stood up saying "I'm going to go get water." Rather loudly.

This was especially strange for Blaine, who was always far too polite to do anything without asking bashfully for permission, especially getting a glass of water.

He left the room quickly, leaving me sitting there feeling confused and upset.

Although I had heard his footsteps heading towards the stairs, they stopped at the top, and they stayed that way for many long moments.

The twisting nag of worry was increasing, and not knowing what Blaine was doing was making it worse and worse each second.

I nearly fell of the bed when a loud shout of "No!" boomed into my room from Blaine's place at the top of the stairs. Quiet whimpers fallowed, and it sounded like Blaine was pleading with someone, begging for them to stop.

My head clearing immediately, I ran to the stairs, looking around for a burglar or a rabid animal, or anything other than the sight in front of me. Blaine was standing at the very edge of the top step, balanced so precariously that a single movement might send him tumbling over the edge. One hand was buried in his hair, pulling furiously, while the other hand was grabbing at the wall for dear life. He was muttering and sobbing, and I was only able to make out a few words like 'stop' and 'you said' and 'I will!'

I had absolutely no idea what to do, I had no idea what was going on, and a mixture of fear and pure blankness was consuming me, and I tentatively places my hand on Blaine's arm. "Blaine?"

Blaine started laughing an insane bark, and he turned on the spot so quickly that he almost fell, back first, down the steep staircase, but I managed to grab him by the wait in time and drag him down. We fell tangled together onto the floor, and I held Blaine's torso in my arms. He was still laughing and muttering, and his eyes were so blank that I doubted he even knew where he was.

I thought fleetingly that Blaine might be having a stroke or a seizure, since I had no idea what either looked like, but as soon as that thought came, Blaine's laughter died as quickly as it had come, and he was blinking rapidly and looking around cautiously.

When his eyes landed on me, they widened and he sat up. "Oh my god Kurt, I'm so sorry I'm so sorry!" he continued to apologize over and over again as he got himself off the floor and rushed into my room. I fallowed him to find him gathering his things, still apologizing and quite obviously coming very close to a panic attack, His movements rushed and body shaking.

All I could do was stand in the room, moth gaping open in shock and confusion.

Once he had all his stuff he rushed to my bedroom door to leave, but I grabbed him by the wrist and he turned.

When he turned around, the apologies stopped immediately, and I saw that his eyes were blank again. He was looking right at me, but it was as though he did not recognize me, it was as though I was not there at all. Blaine simply stood there and stared, limp and unmoving.

A feeling of dread rushed over me. In that moment I felt worthless. To have Blaine, _Blaine_ look at me as though I was insignificant, invisible, was like pure rejection and disappointment shot through my veins and into every pore and cell of my body. But as I felt my insides shrink, I also felt a sense of pride. It was _me _who got to see Blaine like this. It was _me_ who saw _Blaine_ in his strangest and most curious state.

After a moment Blaine's eyes cleared, and he saw me again as tears began to fill his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Kurt." He said with so much earnest that it seemed to hit my chest like a full force blow.

"Blaine what is going on?" I said, and I wasn't surprised to hear my voice high and panicked.

Blaine shook his head vigorously, as if trying to rid something through his ears. "I can't Kurt, I can't, please just, please forget it okay? I'll just go, and I understand if you don't call me, but I want you to. I have to go, but please just forget this happened, and call me if you can. I just… I have to go."

Blaine rushed out of my room, and I heard him closing the front door less than twenty seconds later. I could have stood there for an hour, but it felt like five, but when the shock began to melt into numbness, I walked over to my bedside drawer and pulled out a small, square bag of white powder that I knew was not cocaine.

O.o.O

It's a feeling so few people know, to be but a frightened kid shoved down to your knees in front of some old, dirty man, and know that you could walk out any time you like. Every time they would hit the back of my throat, I would get an almost instinctual desire to bite down hard, but I never did. I wanted to punish them for what they did do me, or for letting me do it to myself.

I always smiled afterwards. It wasn't forced, and it wasn't fake. It was a genuine smile that came from a dark, unknown part of my mind that presented itself whenever I saw the scars on my arms, the scabs on my knees, or the scratch marks on my back. I was so proud of them, and sometimes I wanted to show them to the world; show them all who I really was. Sometimes I wanted to tell Blaine, and parts of me still hoped he would see the scratch marks on my back and then yell at me, tell me what a horrible person I was then run away so I would never see him again.

Sometimes I thought about getting clean. It was a simple enough thought, and one night I even stalled my 3 codeine pills a few hours, but the swirls and the fog loomed in my thoughts and refused to let go its grip on my throat. Sometimes, even when I was so high that I had to step outside to get some fresh air, just the thought of being even higher, being so high that the only way I could get higher was if I was dead, made me long for it so much that my chest actually ached with a desire that consumed me completely.

It was easy to forget everything in those moments. It was easy to forget Blaine and his dopy smile, or the way his eyes looked blank when he stared at me from my bedroom door. It was easy to forget how he had looked at me as though he didn't even recognize me, how in that moment I felt more special and more worthless than I ever had in my entire life. In those moments, my mind was all that existed. My mind, and its desires that could so easily be fulfilled.

The day after Blaine had stormed from my house found me at Ethan's shed, in one of those all-consuming moments, and I had to force myself to walk outside to get some fresh air. Though my lungs seemed to inhale actual oxygen for the first time in hours, the air was filled with the moans from out back as some _fuck_ took advantage of Brittany. I wanted to do something to stop it, but all I could do was stumble and trip my way away from the sounds.

My arms seemed to swim through space as if I were underwater, and I reached for my phone and got it out of my pocket, wondering if it was possible for all my bones to disappear.

As I searched through my contact list, I realized with a mind-blowing sensation how weird it was that everyone had skeletons. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, all I knew was that my fingers and eyes were doing things that my brain wasn't telling them too, and soon I had my phone to my ear waiting for some unknown person to pick up their phone.

"Kurt? Oh thank god..." came a voice.

"Juzza good." I slurred, wondering how I got to the ground.

"Kurt, seriously?"

"Who'r you?" I said accusingly.

I heard a heavy sigh on the other line. "Blaine. It's Blaine, Kurt. Do you need me to drive you home, or are you at your house?"

"Blaine! Come, I need you!" the phone slipped from the fingers, and I let the rest of my body fall onto the ground so I could watch the clouds dance, and so I could observe the earth spinning round right in front of me. It was other worldly, and the phone call was forgotten just as easily as it had started. The only thing that existed in the universe was the trees and the birds, slowly revolving beneath the clouds and bright blue sky.

When Blaine came, standing over me, looking down at me, he looked heroic and godly. His figure towered over me and the clouds revolved above him, and I knew he could touch the sky if only he reached just a little higher…

I was sitting in the passenger seat of me car, with absolutely no memory of getting there. Blaine was shaking my arm, repeating my name over and over.

"You know one day my car is going to get stolen if I keep leaving it at that place." Blaine said grudgingly once he realized I had come to my senses.

He helped me up to my room, as he had done so often in the past few weeks. Blaine laid me down on my bed and got me a glass of water, placing my orange bottle of codeine on my bedside table next to the glass.

"Kurt, can you think?" Blaine asked as he sat himself down beside me on the bed, as if the question was as normal as asking about the weather.

"Blaine, I'm insane. You don't deserve someone who's crazy." I said out of nowhere, peering at him through my bottom eyelashes and using far too much effort to move my jaw.

Blaine laughed loudly at that, as if it were ironic. I knew the irony, or at least a tiny piece of it, but I still wondered why Blaine kept doing this for me. "I wanted to talk to you, Kurt. About the other day."

I sat up slightly, eagerly waiting for him to continue. Blaine seemed to be gathering himself, physically and emotionally preparing himself for something painful.

"Can I trust you Kurt? My common sense is telling me not to, but its like I have trusted you since the moment I met you and I don't know why, but there's something I feel I have to tell someone, and I want more than anything for it to be you." He looked me in the eyes, and I knew I had to keep a clear head.

"I'm listening. I won't judge you, Blaine. I've come down from earlier a bit, but I know how to put on a clear head when I need to. You can trust me."

I meant what I had said. Blaine searched my eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but I was certain he wouldn't find any. Even if I had been lying, I was a perfect liar and he would have never even known, but I wasn't. Lying to Blaine was different than lying to other people. It was worse than lying to myself, and I was certain that it would take a lot more than a silly whim or curiosity to get me to lie to Blaine. This fact in itself scared me beyond most because my ability to lie was my power. It was my crutch when I was in a sticky situation and my way out of everything I feared, but Blaine seemed to be my kryptonite. So yes, Blaine could trust me with this, and I wasn't sure whether I liked that or not.

"Kurt… for a while now…" he sighed deeply, staring at his hands, and then continued. "I don't know what it's called. I haven't told anyone… not even my parents. It's not bad, it only happens sometimes, but from what I know it's going to get worse and… I don't think anyone in my family is schizophrenic so I hate to say that I am but I just don't know what else it would be…" he sighed again. "It's just these voices… sometimes they just whisper and I can ignore them to some extent… but sometimes it's more. Sometimes these… well I don't know what to call them. People? Voices? Thoughts? They take over my mind and I do things that make so much sense at the time… but when I look back on them I have no idea what I was thinking… but to be honest I don't think it was me." Blaine's voice cracked on the last word, and he lifted his watery gaze slightly to look at my face, but not exactly in my eyes. "There are people in my head. Sometimes they control me and I can't help it… they make me see things differently than I'm supposed to, and sometimes they make me see things that aren't even there… I'm so scared to tell anyone. I don't want to go to some hospital. And the worst part, if there even is a worst part, is that I wish that I hated them, but I don't." Tears were falling down Blaine's cheeks, and he finished his confession in a soft, vulnerable voice.

I didn't think there was verbal response to that without it sounding mundane and unnecessary, and even if there was, I was too full of emotion to find those words, so instead of speaking I reached out and took Blaine's hand in my own. Blaine finally looked me in the eyes, and I smiled genuinely at him. He returned the smile as I watched his entire body deflate, no longer physically restraining himself from the rejection I was sure he was expecting.

I thought how strange it was that someone as wonderful and mysterious as Blaine would be relieved that I, Kurt Hummel, drug addicted whore, wasn't turning _him _down.

I'm my mind, Blaine's… problem? Disease? Disorder? Was only more of him to appreciate, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't fascinated with the symptoms Blaine had described. He had sounded confused the entire time, as though he didn't exactly understand them himself, and I wanted to help him find out what exactly this was.

"And sometimes I hate myself for it." Blaine whispered, as if it were the thing he had wanted to say all along, but had been keeping his lips tight shut to keep from saying it. He looked back down at his hands, and a fresh new wave of tears started falling down his cheeks and onto their interlocked hands.

I looked at him, trying not to show pity in my eyes, and said "I know. But it's not your fault Blaine, and you're such a wonderful person, there is nothing about you to hate."

"How about me going out with Sammy? Dragging you along as if you would ever want to-"

"Blaine, shut up." I said, and Blaine closed his eyes as if he were ashamed of himself. "I understand how hard it is to accept who you are, I get it, and I can't imagine all the things you have to go through make it any easier. But I think you're the most amazing person I have ever met, and the problems you have only show how strong you are."

Blaine shook his head, and I knew he didn't believe me. "I know that you hate yourself too." He said, and this was such a personal non sequitur that all I could do was stare at him. "I see it in the ways you try and hurt yourself, how you talk about yourself. I wish you could see how amazing you are. Buts it's underneath all the drugs and the… the sex that you don't even see it. But I do. That's why I don't believe I deserve you." Blaine began tracing his thumb over the scars covered by my shirt sleeve, and the action, as it had been since the day Blaine had first done it, was more intimate than all the sex I had ever experienced.

I didn't believe him; of course I didn't believe him. Society and everyone around me made it quite plain that anyone who sold their body for money or drugs was nothing but a second class citizen, and in in my young, naive mind, I was perfectly capable of accepting that.

"And you think I'm better than you when you can't even help the things that are happening to you Blaine? And I choose every day to let myself become what I am?"

Blaine shook his head again. "You don't understand."

I tightened my grip on his hand, and said "I want to Blaine. I really, really want to."

I wanted to understand all the things Blaine saw and heard that were only the making of chemicals inside his brain. I wanted to protect him from the pain and hold him when there was nothing I could do to stop the aching. It was a strange feeling, but for the first time in my life, I let myself hold onto it. Blaine was just as broken as I was, and that made me appreciate him a million times more. It didn't change anything, except now I had a reason to smile. I also had a reason not to cry at night, and that made me resent Blaine more than I ever want to admit.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N- Okay you guys sorry but I suffered from some major writers black this month, and it was way worse because I really wanted this to be a poetic chapter, and I think I have achieved it. **

**For those who don't know, a bowl looks like this: img3 (.) etsystatic (.) com /il_170x135.**

**Please check out my artwork! Heathersyvilla (.) tumblr (.) com /Portfolio**

**Smut (ish) in this chapter, again based off my own experiences and I hope people who have had sex while on drugs understand why I wrote it the way I did. **

**The poem in this chapter was written by the person Blaine is based off of in my own life, And lots of reference to Pink Floyd, or as I call them, the holy music. **

**I do not own glee, please review!**

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking, racing around to come up behind you again. The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older, Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

-Pink Floyd, Time.

Blaine wrote me a poem once. I'm not quite sure why since the poem had nothing to do with me, and sometimes I wonder if he wasn't writing it for me. But I believe it was his way of showing me just another piece of himself.

Glass Silhouettes.

When I was young my father told me I would be sent to a school for people who like to tear open their own skin.

People like me. I see monsters crawling inside my eyes, they are there but I look right through them.

They leave silhouettes made of glass burning on my cheekbones,

And all of a sudden my fingertips are blacker than my knees.

So I would be sent for a special school for people, who tangle their fingers into their hair and pull,

Say "I am not crazy, I am not crazy!" and all of a sudden I'm not.

I'm standing at the top of a mountain singing "I'm so happy!"

I'm falling, curls falling from my fingers.

So I would be sent to a special school for people, who like to tear open their own skin,

And watch what was once blue turned suddenly too scarlet.

It is magic, it is god!

I can see the faerie dust through my glass silhouettes,

And I wish it would tell me that my head would stop running and running,

Like a billowing steam engine travelling on infinite tracks.

So I would be sent to a special school for people, who like to tear open their own skin,

But I can't tell if it's me who's pulling out my hair, clumps of curls falling from my fingers,

But my glass silhouettes do not want me to see,

I just want to see.

Blaine once asked me why I thought my body was worthless. He would hold my arm and stroke his thumb across the whitened stripes that painted my skin and he would touch me as if I were a wounded, dying blue bird. He would clasp my face in his hands and ask me why I thought my lips were made for anything other than to make _me_ happy. He would talk about the moon, and how it shone above the world, one thing that connected every human being in existence, for we all look up and think, 'I am bigger than the moon, I have to be. It looks so small...' and Blaine would tell me I had a mind that was bigger than a thousand moons, than a thousand suns, and I would tell him that no one had ever talked to me like that, but I never answered his question. Why did I think my body was worthless?

Sometimes Blaine would kiss me. He would hold my cheeks in his hands and place minuscule kisses across my lips, as if every spec of skin there was worthy of its own kisses. We never thought of it as kissing, never thought of ourselves as a couple, I was just Kurt, whoever that was, and Blaine was just Blaine, and I knew exactly who that was. We were two people who knew each other so very well, but were at a loss to who we were looking at when we gazed into the mirror. We were two people who like to touch each other's skin, feel the warm press of fingers against our backs and turn red when our arms betrayed Goosebumps that tickled out bellies. We were just two people who could breathe in the same air until our vision became stars because it tasted so much sweeter than the safety on oxygen.

O.o.O

One second life seamed insane but stable, something I could turn my back on long enough to get a few good tokes off a few good joints and still manage to turn around and put on a pretty face. One second I was getting in the last few puffs of a cigarette as I watch my dad pull into the driveway from my bedroom window, then the next second I'm standing in a forest with a man's cock in my mouth, and wondering why the hell Blaine is on his knees beside me.

But that story is for later, and as one of my favorite movie characters, James St. James' once said, "I think it's so important to begin with a bang, don't you? Let 'em know something horrible is going to happen and then poof! We're suddenly elsewhere."

Being high made me live in every moment, savor the swirls dancing on my eyelids and watch as time unfurled itself before my very eyes, but it also turned time into a dagger placed right at my heart, pushing in slowly and surely with no other purpose than to provide me with as much pain as possible before it punctures my heart and leaves me alone and cold.

I had bought myself an hour glass, a clear glass 8 figure with blue sand, perched right next to my bedroom window. I liked to turn in upside down right before I took my first puff of weed or my first line of coke for the day. Part of me thought that if I could just watch time as it happened, maybe it would go slower. I thought maybe, just maybe, the watched pot never really would boil, and the watched cake never bake. But in the end the sand would lay motionless at the bottom bulb, no evidence of ever residing in the top one, and I would have no idea how time could make a fool of me once again for believing if I just tried _one more time,_ I could make time stand still.

The look in Blaine's eyes as he stared at my codeine pills that afternoon so long, long ago had not died with the passing of days or the confession of his deepest, darkest secret. Subtlety was never a strong suit of mine, and it never crossed my mind that taking a dot of cocaine off my knuckle in Blaine's presence might be rude. I didn't miss the way he stared at the substance as if it were the finest fruit under the nose of his starving and dying body, yet to touch it would send him to an existence that only pretended to be magic. Drugs were Blaine's Pandora's Box, yet the knowledge that all evil in the world was the outcome was hidden and veiled so that it could only be known once the storm had died down and the fog had cleared, leaving nothing but blackness and only the memory of light. Rock bottom was one place I never wanted to see Blaine go, but I was too busy thinking of myself to think that anyone other than me could reach such a place.

It wasn't until 2 months after my sophomore year had started that Blaine and I were sitting on my bed as we always were, sharing stories and pretending not to blush when one or the other of us flirted subtly. Blaine made it quite clear how much he wanted to feel his conscious on another level, or at least quite the voices that said such strange things inside his head.

He told me with a quivering voice and shaking hands that he wanted to try one of the substances that I revolved my life around. He wanted to see what it was about changing your own consciousness that was so damn appealing that I was willing to throw everything in my life away for it. Perhaps he didn't use those exact words, but that is what I heard.

I was ecstatic that Blaine wanted to get high, but in all honestly I already felt like I had seen him flying higher than even I had gone during those days where he would mutter and thrash around on my bed, fighting off demons that only he could see. Sometimes as I sat by the bedside, waiting for Blaine to calm down so that I could wrap him in a blanket and help him drink a glass of water. I envied him. Maybe on some level I wished more than anything that I could have this disease, that I could be on a 24-7 acid trip.

That desire died away quickly as the days passed and I saw more and more of what Blaine had been hiding from me, and the fact that he was once able to hide it astounded me even more. I often felt that, even if Blaine and I were in a room by ourselves, there were multiple strangers surrounding us that I could not see. Sometimes Blaine would say things completely irrelevant, presumably to the unseen stranger, and once he even asked me who that woman was that had walked into my door a few minutes ago.

"There was a woman… Kurt please don't fool around with me! She had long braided hair… she was black, carrying magazines!"

Blaine was practically crying as I said "Blaine there was no woman… we've been home alone for hours…" over and over again.

It felt very strange not to be the crazy one, but then again everyone has their own crazy.

So we set up a plan. Blaine would come over after school on Wednesday because that was the day my father came home late; therefore we would have plenty of time. I would go to Ethan's the day before and pick up mildly PCP laced weed, and do whatever I needed to do to 'pay' for it. I didn't know if it was such a good idea to be giving a schizophrenic hallucinogens, but weed was as mild as I could get, and it would be boring if it wasn't laced, right?

So Tuesday left me with a pain in my ass that was hard to sit through as I anxiously waited for the Wednesday school day to pass. As it was every day, the clock was slow and the work too easy for my attention, so I buzzed through my assignments and tried not to think about what Blaine would look like while disheveled and out of his mind high. I couldn't wait to see Blaine in that altered state of consciousness where thoughts were potent and senses were hyper active.

By the time Blaine and I were in my room with a spun glass bowl packed tightly with the bright green substance, I was so excited that I had to take a few deep breathes.

Blaine looked like he was nearing a panic attack but trying to hide it, and I made him promise me that if the voices were troubling him more than usual that he would tell me so we could stop.

I don't remember what it felt like to hold the glass bowl to my lips and feel the burn down my lungs as the smoke was carried through my system. All I remember is the look on Blaine's face as he held the glass to his lips, and I carefully lowered the flame of the lighter into the dip on the bowl, igniting the bundle of leaved packed there. His eyebrows were knitted together, as if he were concentrating so very hard on doing this just right. Blaine's cheeks were pale and his hands were shaking, and I knew he was so scared.

It had been after about five minutes, 3 coughing fits, and about 5 hits that Blaine started to talk about how hard it was to move his limbs.

"My jaw… it's made of stone…" he said slowly, exaggerating the movements in his jaw as he spoke.

Blaine was so beautiful in that moment, his head tilted to the side as if curious of his surroundings, one hand lightly touching his jaw and the other clasping the glass bowl to his lips. His curls were loose and falling down into his face and his eyes were shining bright in a way I had never seen before. Usually Blaine's eyes were soberly bright with that naïve happiness and false hope he carried around him whenever he wasn't by himself, or they were blank, haunted, the voices in his head capturing his consciousness. This time it was a mixture of both of those, Blaine's eyes were bright with happiness and hope, but they were also distant, as if they were in a world that no one else could see.

But I could see it. I was here and I saw it, and I wasn't surprised to feel a tear fall down my cheek as I thought of how nice this moment was. All the lights were off and everything had a bluish tint, and in that moment all that existed in the world was Blaine's eyes and the magical colors that surrounded us. If I listened very closely, I could hear soft music playing in the distance, and I was able to contort it with my mind, and with what felt like magic, I was making "shine on you crazy diamonds" play inside my head. I could hear the music, but if I didn't concentrate hard enough it would fade away, but soon I was lost in Blaine's eyes again.

"I was just thinking…" said Blaine softly, little puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. "This moment is so much like my childhood… like this one time I…" he trailed off, as if unable to find the right way to say this. "When I was about 8, my brother was 11, I remember sitting under the kitchen table as my father threw my grandmothers china at my mother because she forgot to do the laundry. For some reason that's a happy memory… sitting in my brothers arms as we tried not to listen to the horrible things my parents were saying to each other. That was the week they got separate bedrooms. My dad… he's never told me anything, he's never told anyone anything, but I think I might have gotten this" Blaine gestured towards his head "from him. And I was just thinking, the way my brother made me feel that night… it's the way you make me feel all the time, except its different. It's just different and I don't know how… the moon…" he trailed off, staring at a random spot in space and looking completely and utterly absorbed in it.

"Blaine?" I slurred. He didn't move. "Blaine?"

Blaine sat up very fast and opened his mouth as if he were yawning and began stretching his arms around. The movement was so startling to me that I jumped and dropped half the weed that was resting on my thigh onto the floor.

"Oh! Oh sorry, it was just I couldn't move, and it wouldn't work unless I did it really fast…" Blaine hurried to help me pick up the pieces of green off the floor, and I was so preoccupied with getting every last bit back into a baggy that I didn't notice at first that Blaine was sitting so close to me, his face only an inch from my own. "I never liked her you know."

I turned, surprised to find Blaine so close but not reacting to it until about ten seconds after I noticed it. "Sammy?"

"Yah, I'm just stupid. I was being stupid." He shook his head a little, and I could feel and smell his breath on my face. It was a thick scent. It wasn't minty, though it somehow reminded me of when I was a child, walking outside and smelling the fresh air and newly mown grass in my nostrils.

Blaine's lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were fixed on my lips. If I had to find a word to describe him in that moment I would say charming, but there was something so distinctly _Blaine _about it that there could hardly ever be an exact word. Never the less, I still felt myself melt before him, and I placed the last stem of weed into the small baggie and placed it on my night stand before turning to him and looking Blaine right in the eyes.

"I want to kiss you, but I want this kiss too mean something." I breathed, my heart racing.

Blaine looked up at me through his eyelashes, a hopeful look in his eyes, but also a look that said he was ready to hear the worst. "Do I mean something to you?"

I clasped his face with my hands and said in a choked voice "god Blaine, you mean everything to me."

We kissed then, and it was Blaine who had leaned forward, and it was Blaine who pressed his soft lips to mine as if it were something he had been waiting to do all of his life. After our first kiss came many more kisses, and soon Blaine was lying on top of me and the only thing that existed in the world was Blaine and his weight on top of me, the feeling of stubble on my cheek and the soft pressure of his lips on mine.

"I want you so bad." breathed Blaine as he trailed kisses down my neck.

"Goodness Blaine, what happened to the dapper virgin?" I said as I felt Blaine grind his cock down on my upper thigh.

He pulled away, just enough to look me in the eyes, and said "I want you to know all of me, Kurt. I'm not who everyone thinks I am."

The experience of having sex with Blaine is not something I can remember entirely. Sometimes I wish I had been a virgin that day, so I could have given myself entirely to him as he had done for me. Sometimes I wish that Blaine could have had some handsome man sweep him off his feet and pepper him with kisses until his skin was too red and his heart too large to tell the difference between a heartbeat and the most beautiful melody.

I do remember the ways Blaine's eyelashes rested on his cheekbones and how they seemed to flutter there like butterflies on a pink tinted petal. I remember seeing Blaine entirely for the first time, and I remember thinking 'this is it. I am losing my virginity.' I didn't even remember that to be untrue until later on when the thought had long passed by, and sometimes I wish so badly I would have never remembered. I traced my fingers across the fresh cuts across Blaine's upper thigh, hoping to give him the comfort that he had always given to me.

To this day, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life is Blaine, as I look up at him through my eyelashes, face broken into pure pleasure as I wrap my lips around him. His lips parted slightly, eyes wide and hooded from underneath, eyebrows knit together. Blaine gasped and tugged at the sheets of my bed as I set up a rhythm of sinking my mouth down further and further, and then up again, around his cock.

I remember thinking how strange it was that, as many blowjobs I had given, it was this one that I felt so entirely vulnerable and so entirely open and frightened. It was so intimate, and it was something I had never experienced before, and the concept was just too much for me to comprehend.

I don't remember how we decided who would be on top, I just remember being so high, seeing so many colors that were mixed like paint with sounds, and just begging to feel Blaine on top of me, to be smothered with his scent and to suffocate against his muscles, lips, and skin.

Somewhere through my haze of lust and swirls, I managed to force a condom on Blaine, displaying an amount of responsibility, or care, that I had no idea I possessed. After that was a blur of electric touched and wet, warm kisses all over my body and everything lingering, everything on fire. Then Blaine was pushing inside me, and I was pushed back to reality like surfacing water after a 20 foot dive.

Here I was, Kurt Hummel, as Blaine Anderson pushed inside me slowly and gently as if afraid I would scream out. I looked into his eyes and became aware that such a simple gesture was all Blaine had wanted in the first place.

It was laying underneath Blaine, my beautiful, beautiful Blaine, holding his gaze and feeling closer to another human being, to this human being, than I had ever been in my life, that got me through the pain. It was Blaine's honey eyes that prevented bad memories of sweaty men and dirty kneecaps rising to the surface and taking away my serenity. The feeling of Blaine inside me was so incredibly sensational that I was shaking, and he was trying to rub my arms to tell me everything was okay, but my eyes were rolling back in my head and my stomach was vibrating in rhythm with Blaine's thrusts. Everything felt like ice and everything felt like fire, my heart was singing and my swirls were dancing, and Blaine was there to watch them, he was there to see what no one else could see, he was there to connect with me and morph together like vines winding and winding around each other until neither can know where one begins and the other ends.

It was Blaine who came first, calling out my name with a sob and still pushing into me until everything went white, and nothing existed but my mind, Blaine's presence, and inexpressible pleasure that seemed to collapse upon itself to create its own dimension of consciousness.

We lay together, sweating, breathing, and existing. Out chests scratched against each other and chest hair burned but neither of us could care. Soon we were lost in each other's eyes, and I managed to get the strength to put on Dark Side of the Moon, and we listened to it on repeat in the semidarkness, absorbed in each other's eyes, too high to talk, too thoughtful to move.

Blaine didn't leave until he had too, for my father still did not know about him, and it was the hardest goodbye I had ever made.

O.o.O

Have you ever sat in the dark, or perhaps in the sunlight and found yourself suspended in time and thought, simply existing and having no idea how you got to where you are? If you try to remember, you can recall putting one foot in front of the other, saying hellos and goodbyes and shedding tears over problems that are only at the tip of your tongue. But somehow all those moments seem cloudy, as if rushed through but never fully experienced, and then suddenly you're in one place and you realize that the next time you feel this way, another chunk of your life will be long gone.

Sometimes I feel like those moments are the only ones where I'm alive, and sometimes I feel like because of that my life will only be but 5 minutes of the realization that reality is nothing and imagination is the only thing keeping me plastered to the earth. Sometimes I remember Pink Floyd's song, Brain Damage.

"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor, and every day the paper boy brings more."

Sometimes it's when I'm standing on the porch, remembering those times I would skip the middle step, or when my mother had smiled at me from across the yard and I had realized I would never survive without her. Sometimes it would happen when I stand at the sink doing dishes, and all of a sudden I no longer see what I am doing although I am looking straight into the sink. Sometimes it happens when I look into Blaine's eyes, but this time it happens while my knees are buried in dirt and my throat is full of an unfamiliar black cock, and my peripheral vision shows Blaine looking mirror to my own insanity. Perhaps not a mirror, for a tear falls down his cheek, and the man he's sucking off reaches down and thumbs it off in an almost loving gesture, and I see Blaine cringe.

Reality slams into being so fiercely and suddenly, and I am resentful because it is moments like these where existence is the last thing I would ever want for myself.

So here I am, twigs digging into my kneecaps, pushing some guy's dick out of my mouth as I try to figure out where my hands are. I vaguely register that I am trying to stand up, and something that might be voices. I don't know. All I know is that I don't know where I am or how I got there. I also know that the only thing I am intent on doing is getting Blaine as far as possible from this situation.

The next second, or at least that was what it seemed to me, I was on my knees in front of Blaine who was no longer on his knees In front of some stranger, but on his knees facing me. I'm rubbing his cheek with my thumb, and after what could have been minutes, though perhaps it was just a fraction of a second, I registered that I was apologizing over and over again.

Blaine was nodding off, as if he were hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His head was bobbing slightly, and I wondered if he realized he was no longer going down on somebody.

Something hard hit my thigh, and I realized someone had kicked me. I turned around to see the two tall black men walking away, pulling up their pants and cursing. But I wasn't thinking about the throbbing pain in my thigh or the salty taste on my tongue, I was thinking about Blaine.

Blaine Anderson, the boy who gave everything and never asked for anything, was kneeling in front of me with pre-come on his lips and tears falling down his cheeks. What was it all for? Why did this have to be? It was because of me. Because of me the most unique and most terrifyingly wonderful boy in the entire world looked just like me, like a wasted old junkie.

"I don't want to do it anymore." Whispered Blaine.

"What?"

"I don't want to do it anymore." Blaine started to get up, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes and staggering as he tried to find balance on his feet. "I don't want to do it. I don't want to do it. I can't. I can't. I just…" Blaine fell to his knees, obviously too high to walk, but the fall was the last straw and he began taking large gasps of air, clutching at his chest as if begging his body to stop betraying him. Blaine was sobbing, digging one hand into his tee shirt and the other into his hair. He looked utterly mad.

"Blaine?" I said, and I had no idea what to do. Part of me was so used to seeing Blaine like this, tears in his eyes and agony on his face, but there was something different about this moment.

Usually the monsters the tormented Blaine lay within his own mind, unable to disappear and far too familiar, almost like a best friend with a nasty temper. Usually the voices and visions were the ones to cause Blaine to keel over in pain or to believe, if only for a moment, that his body was on fire.

But this time it was me who was hurting him. This time it was me, Kurt, Blaine's only friend, the person who was supposed to protect him as Blaine had protected me, I was the one who was sending Blaine into a fit of sadness and hurt that so very few people could ever understand.

Dead leaves cracked and squished beneath my knees and dirty water seeped through my black skinny jeans, and I became so incredibly aware that I felt the same moisture on my back. Somewhere I was falling, and voices were calling Blaine's name over and over again, and they sounded so desperate, so incredibly in need that I shed a tear for those voices because all they needed was the name on their lips.

But it was so cold here, and I just wanted to know Blaine was okay, but I couldn't see him. I still heard footsteps but all I could see was the throbbing pain in my head that looked such a delicate shade of red. I just wanted Blaine to come back, and it wasn't until then that I realized he was gone. I opened my eyes and saw the canopy of trees silhouetted against a fierce pink and blue sky. The edges of my vision were telling me stories and I tried so hard to listen, but the footsteps were gone now, and their absence was so loud I had to cover my ears with my hands and try to block out their sound with my screams.

The voices were calling Blaine's name again, it was echoing through the trees but I heard no answering call. My lips were moving, but I did not recognize the voices.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N- So sorry for the long wait! I get serious cases of writers block, and I refuse to force myself to write because I am dedicated to writing poetically. **

**Anyone interested in seeing what Blaine's parallel in real life looked like, this is her, her name is Emily and she is beautiful. This is the day we first met, technically the second time, but the first time we really talked. (The same story as how Kurt and Blaine met in this story) you can see one of the cuts on her wrists, I only just noticed that. It makes my heart break every time I see it. http: /sphotos .xx. fbcdn. net /hphotos-ash3/10127_1209055397719_1568748346_539612_5179136_n. jpg**

*****LISTEN TO THE SONG ASHES TO ASHES BY DAVID BOWIE (Space Oddity first if your ambitious enough) OR YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND THE ENDING.*****

**I do not own glee, please review! **

There is no pain you are receding. A distant ship, smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying. When I was a child I had a fever, my hands felt just like two balloons. Now I've got that feeling once again, I can't explain you would not understand. This is not how I am. I have become comfortably numb. –Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd.

I wasn't quite sure if this was rock bottom, because it seemed every time I thought I had hit that nasty place I managed to sink just a little bit lower underwater, the pressure building and building around my body so that I thought I might just collapse in on myself.

Blaine was gone. I had woken up in the middle of the night covered in bugs and reeking of vomit. My back was soaking wet because I had passed out on damp leaves, and I was in pitch darkness except for the small slivers of moonlight peeking through the woods canopy.

I reached into my pocket and took out my small bag of cocaine I had bought the night before and stuffed my nose into the bag and sniffed every bit out until all that was left was the powder layering the skin of the bag and the cocaine covering my nose, which I used my finger to wipe on and suck into my mouth. I felt disgusting and animalistic, but I didn't care. My head was buzzing and my fingers were shaking so badly that it took me a long time to get up on my wobbly feet. I could hear footsteps all around me and I knew they were ghosts, there were ghosts everywhere.

I stumbled and crawled my way through forest undergrowth and fallen branches until I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was and decided to sleep until morning, not caring in the slightest that there were animals and bugs and horrible things lurking in these woods at night.

The next thing I remember is driving home, startled out of my complete drug induced haze by almost running into another car because I ran a red light. I parked my car haphazardly in the drive way and stumbled my way to the front steps to start banging on the door and pushing on the door bell, moaning and yelling for someone to just open the fucking door.

The door opened suddenly and I fell forward, my face landing in my father's shoulder as my shaking arms pushed him off until I could fall inside and curl up on the floor.

I was gone. I was suddenly lost in images of Blaine above me, saying my name over and over again as if begging me for something, lost in the sensation of wanting nothing more than _more, deeper, harder, please._

For a moment I could believe I was back in that moment, lost in Blaine's breathing and throbbing with pleasure, thanking a god I didn't believe in that time could move backward like I _knew_ it could. Existence was merely just a rush of voices and sounds, fogging my brain and lighting up my senses. For that moment I could forget last night, I could forget Blaine's distant footsteps and crawling through damp woods in the unbending darkness. For now I was with Blaine, drinking in his scent and feeling him all around me.

O.o.O

The first thing I noticed was an unfamiliar chair, with unfamiliar filthy clothes draped across it. As time passed by, slowly the chair and the clothes on top of it started to look ever more present, and ever more familiar. I wasn't quite sure where I was, or even who I was. All I knew in the world was that chair and those clothes that were becoming more and more in focus with my brain. Like puzzle pieces being magically placed into order, I started to realize that those clothes and that chair were mine, and that there was a dip in the bed I was lying on that indicated someone was sitting with me. I turned my head, and all of a sudden I was myself again. I was Kurt Hummel, staring into the eyes of my father who looked sad and worn, and at a loss for what to do.

"I just don't know what to think, Kurt. I just don't know what to do or think so please tell me what the hell is going on."

I blinked up at my father whose image was spinning and being distorted by the multitude of drugs still pulsing through my system. I tried to just let instinct take over, let instinct get me out of this horrendous situation.

"What?" I said, knitting my eyes together and looking around as if unaware of my surroundings. "Wait… how did… how did I get here?" I made to sit up quickly but my father pushed me back down gently.

"You came home drunk at six o' clock in the morning covered in dirt from head to toe! What the hell is going on Kurt?"

I was so happy my father thought I was drunk that I had to hold back a chuckle of relief. Drunk, I could work with. I relaxed my tear ducts and managed to bring tears to my eyes, and began to sob in my hands, apologizing over and over again. "I'm so s-sorry dad, I just wanted to try it but there must have b-been more alcohol in it than I thought and I didn't want to drive home because I knew it wasn't safe dad I'm s-so s-sorry!" I began clutching at my chest as if I couldn't breathe, repeating my apologies with every bit of breathe I could reasonably take.

I looked up at my father through my fingers, and from his expression I could tell he believed me, and I could tell he was sympathetic. My father had his drinking days, I knew, and working up sympathies from him was easy if I managed to press the right buttons.

"Look kid, I don't approve of you drinking, but it's not nearly as bad as the things I was coming up with in my head. Just let your head clear up a bit then we'll talk, alright?"

I nodded. "I'm so sorry dad." I said with a hiccup.

Burt put his hand on my knee and said "I love you kid, no matter what." And I felt my body fill with shame.

"I love you too, dad."

O.o.O

The first thing I did when my father left the room was call Blaine. My mind wasn't completely clear on what had happened the night before, but I knew something was wrong and that it involved Blaine.

No matter how many times I called it just went straight to voicemail, and after an hour of calling and texting non-stop I was hyperventilating with fear. Did something happen to him? Was he okay? Or was he just not talking to me?

Horrible scenes were playing out in my mind, and all I could see was sweet, wonderful, innocent Blaine, on his knees beside me, degrading himself like I had been doing for months. I pictured him stumbling off, reaching some horrible creature or some horrible person, and I left dozens of voicemails just begging him to let me know that he was okay.

It wasn't until 4 hours of hopeless worrying and rocking back and forth pulling at my hair that I finally got a text message from Blaine, reading only _'I'm fine.'_

I whispered Blaine's name into the silent room and kissed my phone, breathing a sigh of relief and texting Blaine back as quickly as possible. But no reply came.

The next time I saw my dad, he pretended nothing had happened, and I was willing to take that as an excuse to just keep on doing whatever the fuck I was doing.

O.o.O

My body felt incomplete. It was like some ferocious animal had come and clawed out my chest to leave me bloody and broken and lacking everything I needed to stay alive. Blaine was gone, and no matter how often I filled myself up with weed, or how often I shot up dope, the giant gaping hole was still so ever present that I could never quite ignore it.

I started going to Ethan's shed every day again. Even though I had gone there often during my friendship and relationship with Blaine, somehow the place had become distant and unfamiliar. Brittany seemed to have gotten taller and Santana a little bitterer during my time swirled completely around Blaine and his wonderful mind.

Ethan, of course, was just glad to have his fuck buddy back. Within a week of Blaine's disconnection, I was having sex with Ethan daily. Part of me was glad to give myself to him, to let him abuse me and use me as if I was nothing. Sometimes I wished he would fuck me hard enough that I would black out and never wake up, and sometimes I wished I had the courage to shoot up just a little bit too much heroin, but I never did. I never had the courage to do to myself what I was so happy to let others do too me, and every single day I let the dope and codeine and the weed wash away any indication of sanity I might have had left in me.

I started not to care about what my father thought. By now I was sure he knew something was up, how could he not, but I also knew that he was so afraid of the truth that he would rather live in ignorant bliss. I had lost the ambition to get home on time or to watch the creaking step every time I snuck out. I was no longer parking my car in the exact same position every single day or bothering to keep up with speed limits. I was missing school every single day since Blaine seemed determined not to talk to me, even when I was walking right next to him, trying to keep up with his hurried footsteps, begging him to just _give me one more chance._

I didn't care about the law or my father, all I cared about was getting high, and whether or not Blaine would ever talk to me again.

So I wasted away the days smoking weed in Ethan's shed, skipping meals and shooting heroin every day. I started taking more and more codeine pills each day, and soon I was bordering on suicidal because of the fact that drugs weren't feeling the way they used to. No matter how much weed I smoked or codeine I swallowed, I always felt relatively sober, and I think that is why I started working desperately to get hallucinogens.

Being on acid was quite literally like falling down the rabbit hole and swimming through your darkest and brightest dreams. Most people spoke as if the trip lasted too last, as if they were desperate to leave but could not climb the steep hole leading into wonderland. It was always the opposite for me. The second I started to feel sobriety nudging its way into my brain, I was clawing like mad to keep myself deep inside the comforting arms of colors and sounds that only I could see or feel.

It was the closest I could get to happiness when all I wanted to do was get Blaine to speak to me again, and when I really couldn't tell if I had hit rock bottom or not.

O.o.O

We were sitting in Ethan's cabin. Me, Ethan, Brittany and Santana all lazing around passing a bong and snorting up some coke Ethan had gotten from, as I knew him, weird lighter guy. We had just chewed up some shrooms and we were all waiting for the effects to kick in. it took about an hour, but for me it always took longer whenever I took acid or shrooms or anything orally, which I was endlessly bitter about.

"Have you seen Blaine lately?" asked Brittany, starring off into the distance. I felt a twinge of envy at the fact that she had only smokes 3 hits of weed and was already so high that she couldn't see straight. And then once I realized what she had said I felt as though my entire stomach had been flipped inside out.

"No." I choked, holding back tears that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

"He hasn't been to school you know." She said after a while, and her voice seemed to come from the heavens. "People say he's crazy, you know, lost his mind. He started screaming about a fire in science class the other day, you know. Everyone kept looking for a fire but there wasn't any. He seemed to think he was on fire, you know. We couldn't calm him down." She stared off into the distance for a while, and then suddenly started giggling, clutching her stomach. "You know!" she burst out, falling to the ground. Santana got down with her and stated playing with her hair.

I felt as though the entire world had been taken from below my feet and placed heavily onto my shoulders. Blaine was in trouble. Blaine was in trouble and there was nothing I could do. People must have found out about his hallucinations, or at least some of it, and that was last thing Blaine ever wanted. He hated the idea of being the crazy one, the one who could never lead a normal life. I felt this strong pull towards Blaine, even though I was sitting in this dusty cabin with no idea where Blaine was. I wanted to go and comfort him. I wanted to tell him he was the most amazing person in the entire world, but even if I could, Blaine had no reason to believe me.

Never trust a drug addict. Addicts always lie.

When the shrooms stated to kick in and my arms stated to feel miles long, I was already curled in a ball waiting to have a horrible trip as Ethan crawled on top off me and stated kissing at my neck. I tried to push him away, but all he did was smile and move his hand to the zipper of my pants.

O.o.O

I felt like a young child wobbling my way through a grocery store. I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there, all I knew was that I was walking and walking with hardly a clue on how to do so. Days were passing before my eyes and I couldn't distinguish one high from the next. The only time I ever saw my father was on the rare occasion we passed each other in the kitchen, and the last time I had seen Blaine was 2 weeks ago before I started skipping when he ignored me in the hallway.

All I could think about was what Brittany had said about Blaine being missing from school for a week and a half now. I had even gone to school for two days in a row to see if he was back, but there was an empty seat in all of his classes. I tried calling him over and over again but his phone was always off, it seemed Blaine didn't really have anyone to talk to on the phone anymore.

I was so worried about him. My chest was in knots constantly over who would get Blaine a glass of water and a blanket after one of his voice attacks, or who would calm him down when the voices became so overwhelming he started hyperventilating. Who would tell him he was perfect? Who would tell him he was beautiful?

The only things that could ease the tangled knots in my chest were opiates, and I was willing to take a shot of heroin any time I had the opportunity too.

Ethan was becoming more and more aggressive with me, as if he knew I was willing to do anything and was fully ready to take advantage of that. Sometimes I thought about how lucky I was that there was a gay drug dealer so close to me, and then I would shake my head and tell myself how ridiculous that sounded.

I never really understood Ethan, there were times he would do things or say things that completely did not match up with his hard, sex driven exterior.

One chilly afternoon four weeks after Blaine and Is' estrangement, the usual four of us, Ethan, Santana, Brittany and I, were all sitting in the smoke filled shed, David Bowies' voice echoing around us and consuming our bodies like liquid. The atmosphere was smooth and none of us had talked for hours, all of us absorbed in our own distorted thoughts under the influence of heroin, cocaine, and weed.

Ethan broke the stagnate length of time by reach over towards me and starting to bite on my neck. A surge of some unfamiliar emotion flooded my body and it felt something like rage.

"God just lay off me already!" I snapped, slapping his hand off of my thigh and pushing his torso away from me.

Ethan just stared at me for a moment, his eyes half lidded, but completely bug eyed in comparison to how they had been. "What the hell?" he said, and all of a sudden Ethan looked weak, like a child who had just been scratched by a cat.

"You're always fucking touching me Ethan! Do you think I'm attracted to you or something? God fucking-!" I cut myself off and ran my fingers through my hair, realizing with fury that if I ruin my thing with Ethan, I ruin my connection to drugs.

Ethan shot up, looking down at me as if trying to act superior, but he still looked young and confused. "You're just a fucking whore, Kurt! Nothing more. Fuck you." He stormed out of the shed, leaving a dense silence in his wake.

The atmosphere was broken by Brittany, who let out a short, barely audible sob that I was surprised had been able to travel through the thick air.

"What the fuck is wrong with him!" I cried, slamming my hands down onto the couch and looking to Brittany and Santana, who was holing Britt in her arms and glaring at me.

"Isn't it obvious, pretty boy?" Santana said, still staring daggers. "He was doing the exact same shit you're doing just a few years ago. How else do you think he knows all these perverts?"

I stared at her for a moment, then looked towards the door, still open wide and pouring out smoke, and wondered if that was what I would become one day, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.

O.o.O

I knew I could have died, but that was never my intention. Somewhere in my haze of thoughts that seemed to fade in and out of reality, I hand made the decision to stick a razor in my arm until everything went black and I could no longer feel my own being. I had placed my iPod on shuffle, prized a razor out of my fathers' brand new box cutter, and sat myself in the tub. I knew my father would be home any minute now, and I knew which veins I needed to avoid in order to keep myself alive. But no one would know. No one would know that I had always intended to survive.

_Ashes to ashes, funk to funky. We know Major Tom's a junkie, strung out in heaven's high, hitting an all-time low._

It was hard to slide the razor across my skin over and over again, over the exact same spot, hitting the exact same veins. It was hard to push down with all of my strength and slice my skin apart until red was dying my clothes and I could hear the steady drip hitting the tub as my arm pulsed and instinct told me to _stop just stop._ The pain was unbearable, but I had downed a bottle of Robotussin two hours ago and this agony seemed to belong to an entity I was only barely acquainted with. Darkness was pounding on my head but I was too lost in the stars that were popping in front of me to notice such mundane things as hurt, and soon I was flying through space.

_Time and again I tell myself I'll stay clean tonight, but the little green wheels are following me. Oh no, not again._

I could feel the blood running down my arms and it was burning my cold skin. I felt like fire and ice. My consciousness was sinking and it wasn't difficult to let myself sink lower and lower into the blue until a distant, oh so familiar voice was whispering into my ear.

_My mama said to get things done; you better not mess with major tom…_

Maybe I did want to die.


End file.
